The New Old Law
by Nyx6
Summary: Old West AU (stay with me here) When Mayor Jessica demands that Sheriff Harvey choose himself a deputy, it triggers a dramatic chain of events which involves a gang of vicious outlaws, fake love potions and fast-talking, trouble-finding conman Mike, who's fresh off the stagecoach and straight into the thick of things. No slash and I promise it's not as kooky as it sounds!
1. Chapter 1

So...yeah...it's set in the Old West. Why? Don't ask, I've no idea. Normally I don't even _read_ AU's far less actually _write_ the damn things, but this just sat in my head for ages and eventually I gave in and wrote it down. It seemed like it was a fairly good way of keeping the canon-world as normal as possible; it's a closed environment, Harvey still gets to wear his suits, there's a hierarchy PLUS potential for added danger. I kind of like to think of this as a new pilot or maybe some crazy concussed dream-sequence Mike could have?

As always I've tried to keep the characters _i_ _n_ character and I've tried to keep that drama/humour blend. Oh, also every single name I've used comes straight from the series so enjoy spotting characters! Right, that's enough of my rambling for now. Weekly postings I think to start with, or bi-weekly depending on my schedule.

I hope you enjoy and if you do, please review. Happy reading...at least I hope it is...

* * *

 **One.**

Jessica's ranch was located several miles west of the township of Hardman; nearly an hour long ride across bumpy terrain and flanked by rock and patches of scrubland.

The house itself was low and sprawling built in local light hued timbers and positioned in the middle of a cluster of structures; the usual combination of barns and stabling as well as a bunkhouse for the few cattle hands. The ranch had been built by Jessica's late husband; the biggest and wealthiest of the local cattle farmers whose reputation had been matched by his character and which lived on in his formidable wife.

It was part of the reason that Harvey was calling; everything started and ended with Jessica.

Trotting briskly under the archway he steered his bay towards the house, crossing the yard to the hitching post and swinging down smoothly in one clean movement. The heels of his shoes crunched loudly on the dry ground sending up small pockets of dust. They swirled in the air and stuck to his black pants, sullying his usual three-piece attire. He was still busy dusting the worst from his jacket sleeves when Jessica joined him out on the steps.

"Harvey," she smiled, enjoying the spectacle, "Have a nice ride? You look a little flushed."

Sweeping a hand across his hat brim, Harvey shot her an unimpressed glare,

"So would you if you had to make that ride in the middle of the day. Why is it that I always have to drag myself out here? Next time how about you come to me?"

Jessica raised an amused-looking eyebrow,

"Tell you what Harvey, when _you_ become the mayor of Hardman I'll come and see you whenever you want. But until then," she offered, fluttering her lashes, "You'll come to _me_."

Harvey rolled his eyes with long-suffering,

"I guess that figures. I _am_ just a lowly sheriff after all – ,"

"Oh come on now Harvey, don't put yourself down. You're _the_ lowly sheriff. We only have one."

"Thanks," he deadpanned back, "Very comforting."

"You're welcome, now are you coming in?"

Jessica didn't wait for an answer; turning and sashaying back into the house. Harvey followed a step behind her, each of them moving through the exact same sequence that always followed his arrival at the ranch. By the time he took up his usual spot – beside the sprawling rock-work fireplace – Jessica was already pouring him a tumbler.

"So," she began briskly, handing it across and then settling herself in one of the parlour chairs; a high-backed, rococo-revivalist clawfoot, "Where are we on the deputy front?"

"We're not,"

"Harvey – ,"

"Jessica," he replied, "Have you _seen_ the shortlist? Do you have any idea of the options I'm working with? Because I do and trust me, they're not that great."

Jessica took another sip of liquor. When she spoke again she was practically purring, as if to a feral and boisterous kitten.

"Well that's because they haven't had the benefit of being taught by the best sheriff in the area yet."

"I'm the _only_ sheriff in the area," Harvey countered, "Which is a fact that you were at great pains to point out to me not two minutes ago. Do you really think you can smooth-talk me into this?"

"You need a deputy Harvey,"

"Why?" he fired back, spreading his hands wide, "Why now? I've been doing this job single-handed for the last six years and you have never so much as _mentioned_ a deputy. Suddenly, it's all you can think about."

"Harvey," Jessica responded evenly. Her gaze was starting to harden a little, "I never mentioned a deputy before because I never felt you _needed_ one – in some respects I still think that's true – but that was then and this is now. Life out here is getting more dangerous and we have to face facts that towns like Hardman are _vulnerable_. Outlaws are getting smarter, they're banding together and if somebody decides to come at us we're not going to stand a chance."

Harvey pulled a face,

"So you think adding an extra badge is going to help?"

"No I don't – not in a firefight. But what it _will_ add is peace of mind to the town. It will make people feel safer, feel _protected_ – ,"

"Sure, right up until they're shot in their beds."

"Harvey," Jessica countered warningly, trying not to smile at her sheriff's wry smirk. _Damn him._ She cleared her throat and continued evenly, "It will _also_ give you extra eyes and ears to keep on top of things before they happen."

" _Extra eyes and ears_ ," Harvey repeated. His tone was several shades of bewilderment, " _That's_ what you think is going to happen?"

Jessica stared back at him coolly,

"Mmhm."

"So is that why you sent Stan Jacobson to try out?"

"He's enthusiastic."

"He's also partially sighted."

"I didn't have the heart to say no to him."

"So you let me do it instead?"

Jessica grinned,

"That sounds about right."

Harvey rolled his eyes at her. Try as he might he was struggling to understand just when they had reached such a crack-pot crossroads – one that entailed him seriously considering the _physically infirm_ for the role of his back up; his right-hand man. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders,

"Well then the joke's on you Jessica, because Stan was probably the strongest candidate."

"Please tell me you at least gave the others a chance?"

"The others?" Harvey snorted, "Who, Reverend Porter? The man has never held a gun in his life. His best defence would be delivering a sermon and hoping the outlaw died of boredom. Or maybe you mean Harold Gunderson, who's as likely to shoot _me_ as the bad guys. Not forgetting the twins, Greg and Kyle – ,"

Jessica blinked,

"They're not twins Harvey."

"Well you could have fooled me, because if you pin a badge on either one of them, I guarantee you by the end of the week they'll be walking around town like they own the place. Hell," he laughed; it wasn't from humour, "You might as well give the damn badge to Donna, at least I know she'd have my back."

"Trust me Harvey," Jessica answered, swirling the liquid round in her glass and staring transfixed at the whirlpool effect. Eventually she sighed and looked up, "If I could I would."

"You're the mayor. You _can_."

"Really? And how do you think that would go down – the town madam installed as deputy sheriff?"

Harvey threw his hands out wide,

"Well then we've got ourselves a situation, because there's not a single person in that town who I would trust even ten miles away from shootout, far less _involved_ in one."

For a second there was a tantalising pause as Jessica seemed to consider her options. Harvey felt it roll in like a thunderstorm and even before she parted her lips he knew exactly what was going to come out. He hated it even before he heard it.

"There's Louis."

" _No_."

"Why not?" she asked lightly, ignoring the glower she got in response, "You know he's well respected in town, people trust him, he's good with a gun – ,"

"He's also afraid of his own shadow," Harvey countered, "Not to mention the man is a weasel, I'd rather give the badge to Norma – I mean she already works with him every day, so we know she's tough. Hell, I'd even give it to one of your steers. _Anyone_ but Louis Litt."

Jessica finished the remainder of her drink, standing and setting the glass back down. It lived – like the rest of the sparkling crystal ware – on a highly polished silver platter; another of Jessica's late husband's acquisitions. When she turned back to him her expression was firm and her tone left little room for debate.

"Well in that case I'm sorry Harvey but if you can't come up with a deputy of your own by the end of the week, I'll have no choice but to appoint Louis myself,"

"Jessica – ,"

" _Harvey_. This is my call. But the good news is that you have the ride back to have a long, hard think about your options."

"That's it?" he blinked, "You're kicking me out?"

"Oh I'm not kicking. Not yet anyway."

As was perfectly normal for Jessica, her manner had reverted back to flirtatious. It was a tactic that she made use of frequently – usually to maximum effect – but with Harvey it was different and not as loaded. Their relationship was playful but built on trust and both respected the other too much to ever take it over the line.

Casually sliding on his hat, Harvey pushed himself off from the fireplace,

"Fine, I'll go," he smiled wryly, "Madam Mayor, always a pleasure."

He was halfway across the threshold before she spoke again; her tone oddly cool against the hot midday sun that cast down onto the toes of his boots. The rest of him lingered in the shade of the porch.

"I meant it Harvey – the end of the week. You have until Friday, then it's _my_ choice."


	2. Chapter 2

So here we are, chapter two. Thanks to all the readers and reviewers so far. I promise there will be action and peril and hurt and comfort and all those other good things but not yet - we've still got a scene to set and characters to meet as you will see. On that note here are a few more, including Mike, so happy reading.

As always please review and if there are any mistakes in this one please forgive me, I've re-read it several times but I've got a job interview in the morning and I can't really concentrate so that'll be why!

Anyway, here you go!

* * *

 **Two.**

"Hardman folks! This is Hardman!"

The shout tore into the stagecoach loudly, bouncing off the four small walls and embedding into the curtain tassels. It also jolted Mike from his slumber and he came to startled and mildly confused.

"Everyone out. Watch your step."

As Mike sat up and rubbed his face he was suddenly aware of a presence behind him and turning back away from the window he came face to face with a cold-eyed stare. It belonged to one of his fellow weary travellers and she was looking decidedly unimpressed,

"You're in the way,"

Mike blinked at her,

"What?"

" _Of the door_ ," she gestured as if talking to an idiot; a gloved hand waved around his shoulder, "You're sitting in the way of the _door_ ,"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I – ,"

"Don't apologise, _move_."

Hastily Mike did as instructed, fumbling awkwardly to loosen the handle and then half falling out as it suddenly gave way. His bag fell out after him with a rattle of glassware but he caught it quickly with an on the spot spin. The midday sun glared down at him fiercely and he squinted and shielded his eyes with a hand. By the time the light had adjusted around him his fellow passengers were already out, lead from the front by his disgruntled seat-partner and rounded off by a thin red-haired man. Seeing Mike standing alone by the boardwalk he made his way over and offered a smile,

"Hi, I – I'm sorry about all that, Miss Hessington does have a bit of a temper."

"Yeah," Mike snorted, "So I noticed."

The other man wiped then extended his hand; cautiously at first as if he thought Mike might laugh at him.

"I'm Harold, Harold Gunderson,"

"Mike Ross,"

Harold beamed, his tense stance easing,

"So, what brings you to Hardman, _Mike_?"

He said the name with added emphasis, throwing in a cheerful wink. It was like the pair were sharing some secret and not entirely sure what to do Mike frowned mildly and held up his bag,

"Uh, business. I sell medicinal remedies."

"Oh wow," Harold nodded, his eyes growing wider. He looked around quickly then leant in close, dropping his voice to a hushed semi-whisper, "You mean like those potions I've heard about? You know, _love potions_ , that sort of thing?"

Mike felt the tell-tale frisson of promise,

"Oh, _those_ , absolutely,"

"You do?" Harold hissed and then jumped in response as Mike snapped open his bag with a click. Inside neat rows of glass bottles chinked musically; different coloured unguents swirling inside. Mike plucked free a pinkish solution,

"Yep, here it is."

Harold peered at it,

"It says it's for rheumatism."

"Uh, well of course, I _have_ to put that," Mike shrugged blithely, "I mean, this is some powerful stuff right here – if people knew I even _had_ this? You can't be too careful. Not out here."

Harold nodded,

"Oh I know, it can be dangerous. That's why Mayor Pearson's been looking for a deputy to help the sheriff in case something happens. I tried out."

"You did?" Mike blinked, " _You_ did, really?"

"I sure did and I think I stand a good chance too,"

Mike watched Harold finger his hat brim; his hands working absently over the join. He wasn't sure if it was excitement or nervousness but everything about the man just seemed jittery, not to mention out of place. The West that Mike had read about was full of unsavouries with criminal records and penchants for booze and fiery women. Harold looked like he'd never touched either or – for that matter – seen a day's worth of sun. How was it even _possible_ to be so white? Fleecing the guy just didn't seem right.

"Look Harold," Mike sighed, tucking the bottle back into his case, "I'm not sure this is for you. I mean, you seem like a nice guy so if you want a girl to fall in love with you then _that's_ what you should use. Not some potion."

Harold blinked in confusion,

"You – you're not letting me buy any? Is it about the money? Because I have money – ,"

As he began to fumble about in his pockets Mike held out a placating hand,

"It's not about that Harold, I just don't think you need any, that's all."

"But I do. I really, _really_ do. See there's this girl but I don't know how to talk to her – I mean, I know how to _talk_ to her but I never know what to say. So, if I had the potion, it might – it might _help_."

"Harold – ,"

" _Please_ ," he countered desperately, "I promise I won't tell anyone else."

Mike gazed back at him; it was like staring at a puppy.

"Okay," he nodded, "But how about just a sample to start with?"

He took out a small vial and handed it across to him, watching as Harold took it with reverence. In reality it was just natural spring water with an iron-based twist to add some colour, although as far as his new best friend was concerned it might as well have been the Holy Grail.

"Thank you Mike, how much do I owe you?"

"It's on the house."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Mike smiled, "I'm sure, just promise me you'll go and get her."

"Oh I will," Harold nodded, beginning to back up. He was clearly eager to try his new gift and grateful enough to attempt not to drop it; carrying the vial upright between his palms. Mike had seen dynamite carried less carefully, "I definitely, _definitely_ will."

"See you around Harold."

Mike watched him go with a good-humoured smirk. It took Harold almost fully ten minutes to cross the boardwalk and round the corner. He waved when he got there and Mike waved back waiting until he'd edged from view and then grinning to himself and shaking his head.

With the man on his way to becoming a heartthrob, Mike had the opportunity to study his surroundings; namely the single-street town of Hardman which had taken him almost three days to get to and had involved the bumpiest journey of his life. To say it was remote would have been an understatement. Despite its isolation however, at first glance the town seemed both sizeable and well served. There was a saloon, a telegraph office, a grocers, a blacksmiths, a barbers, a bank and a steady stream of customers, criss-crossing the boardwalks as they moved back and forth.

It seemed nice. It seemed quiet. It seemed friendly –

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"

"Excuse me?"

Mike spun round in surprise. Standing before him was a man in a suit; a small man, rounded, with thick cheeks and sparse hair that matched thick eyebrows lower down on his face. Two narrowed eyes glared out from beneath them running Mike up and down with suspicion. His second sentence was no clearer than his first.

"You heard me. Now answer my god damn question – who are you, what are you doing here and what did you just give Harold Gunderson?"

"That's – more than one question," Mike blinked back, watching the lips flash into a grin. It wasn't sincere, in fact it looked crazy and the sing-song tone that went with it didn't help.

"Oh, a smart guy,"

Mike sighed heavily,

"No, that's not – I'm a _salesman_ , okay? I _sell_ things. Harold just became my latest customer."

"What did he buy?"

Mike didn't flinch,

"Rheumatism ointment."

"Bullshit."

"What?"

"I _said_ bullshit," the other man countered, gesturing to himself with an outrageous hand-flick, "You really think you can kid the almighty Louis Litt? Bank Manager extraordinaire and soon-to-be announced Deputy Sheriff of a little town called Hardman."

Mike frowned,

"I thought Harold – ,"

"Harold isn't fit to _look_ at the deputy's badge let alone wear it," Louis snapped, "It _needs_ to be worn by a man with gravitas, a man who is respected, admired, looked-up to – ,"

"Like you?"

A moments pause followed as Louis tried to work out if the newcomer was teasing him or being sincere. As far as Mike could tell it involved moving his head around and narrowing his eyes until they turned into nothing but slits in his cheeks. He watched dubiously, not sure what to say or if anything – for that matter – would help things along. After a gap of about twenty seconds however some sort of internal equilibrium was reached and the smaller man continued as if nothing had happened.

"Yes and it's precisely because I _am_ Louis Litt that I know Harold Gunderson didn't buy any so-called _rheumatism ointment_ from you. In fact I know _exactly_ what he bought."

"Then why did you ask – ,"

Louis held up a finger and Mike stopped instantly.

"I just want to know one thing. Who for?"

"Uh, I don't – ,"

" _Come on_ ," Louis countered, leaning in close. Mike had to resist the urge to step back, "I know he bought a love potion, okay? All _I_ want to know is who he wants to use it on. Did he say anything – anything at all?"

"No, he didn't. He just said it was a girl. The only name he mentioned was Mayor Pearson, but that's only because he – ,"

Mayor Pearson?"

Louis' eyes snapped towards him like lightning bolts and abruptly Mike realised he'd said the wrong thing,

"Yes, but I don't think he – ,"

The eruption was furious and semi-volcanic,

"That little _weasel_!" Louis exploded, his skin tone moving through several colour schemes before settling on something just left of puce, "He's going to use cheap alchemy to woo her – then he's going to swing the vote! Our poor Mayoress; poor sweet Jessica. A gentle rose in a tangle of thorns."

Mike nodded awkwardly,

"O-kay, that's nice."

Suddenly Louis' focus was back again and he turned towards him with tightly knit brows,

"I'll take two,"

Mike blinked,

"Two what?"

" _Bottles_ ," Louis hissed impatiently, "Rheumatism ointments, whatever you call them. _Love potions_. I'll take two."

"Louis – ," Mike groaned; _again_ with the love potions? Had the whole town been reading from the same book of crazy? "It isn't a love potion, it's just plain water. I gave it to Harold to make him feel better."

"Water?" Louis echoed, narrowing his eyes again. Mike nodded back at him trying to look earnest. For a second he felt like it might have been working. Then – just as quickly – he realised it wasn't and Louis was smirking and nodding his head as if he had found out the Meaning of Life, "Oh I get it,"

"You do?"

"Oh yeah, I do. I get _exactly_ what's going on here," Louis slipped a hand in his pocket and Mike tensed nervously, expecting a pistol. Instead a jangling silk purse appeared, "Harold paid you double didn't he?"

"What?" Mike blinked, "No he – ,"

"Don't lie to me. I'm too smart to be lied to. I told you before. Harold paid you double the price in exchange for _not_ selling any to me," he shook his head and chuckled bitterly, "Harold Gunderson, you god damn worm."

Throwing his hands up Mike nodded back at him. _Hey, what the hell_.

"Yep, you got me, but he actually paid triple."

"I knew it," Louis muttered darkly, handing across the inflated payment which Mike took silently in exchange for two bottles. The Bank Manager examined them wide-eyed for a moment before looking up suddenly and frowning his way; briefly Mike worried his game had been rumbled but fortunately Louis' concerns were less complex,

"It doesn't come with any instructions. I mean, how do I know when to take it, or how to take it or how often?"

"Oh," Mike nodded, clearing his throat. Suddenly he was back on familiar territory and reciting the same spiel he offered to everyone, "Just take one spoonful three times a day, always after meals. It should take four days to feel the effects, so don't come back for a refund too soon."

Of course what Louis didn't know was that Mike never stayed anywhere longer than three days. Problem solved. Money made.

"So then women will be attracted to me?"

"Uh," Mike blinked, "Sure, let's go with that."

" _All_ women?"

"Um, no, only the woman _you're_ in love with. The potion opens up a channel."

Louis nodded,

"Like a bridge of love."

"O-kay."

Seemingly happy with the newly-made potion rules, Louis tucked the bottles away carefully, dropping them into his inside pocket and tapping it once on the front for good luck. For a moment it looked like he was going to stroll away but then just as quickly he was back again, pointing,

"But don't think for one second that this makes us friends. Because rest assured when I'm the deputy sheriff in this town, you will be the first person I run out of it – we don't want your kind here, cluttering up our tidy boardwalk and selling cheap remedies and hokum cures – ,"

Mike frowned back at him,

"Then why did you just buy – ,"

He stopped again when Louis made a cutting motion, both of them standing silently until Louis finally moved away from him. The smaller man headed straight back towards the bank and then swivelled in the doorway and glared one last time. Feeling the heat and not knowing what to do with it, Mike looked down and studied his boots tips – dusty already in the barren surroundings. When he chanced a quick glance up again the smaller man was gone completely and everything seemed quiet and relatively normal.

"Wow," Mike murmured, still watching the doorway on the off-chance his irascible new client re-emerged, "That was – different."

Ten minutes off the stage and he'd already bumped into the resident lunatics; stranger still that the second ran the bank. He shook his head and closed up his bag again. Still, he was already three sales up _and_ it was lunchtime, which meant one thing.

Further along the boardwalk there was the unmistakeable sound of music, which meant the saloon was open for business. Inside would be food and maybe a card game; Mike liked card games – he had the knack.

"Come on Hardman, show me what you've got."

It might have been an unusual morning but the afternoon was going to be great.


	3. Chapter 3

As ever I'd like to start by thanking my reviewers. To be honest this was such a wild idea to sell that I half expected to get none so I'm happy to have been proven wrong. Also, I've basically finished writing the story now - all eighteen chapters of it - only one left to get done. So I'll probably start uploading twice weekly depending on what's happening at work etc. Anyway, as usual I will quit rambling now and let you get on with it. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **Three.**

The saloon was called The Can Opener and looked better on the inside than it had from the street where it had seemed squat and slightly rundown. Inside the space was surprisingly generous, with a long bar running down one wall and a galleried landing leading off to the bedrooms. Brightly dressed women were dotted around the place; giggling flirtatiously in greens and bright reds with feathers and jewellery and sashaying hips. Clearly it was more than a watering hole but the food smelt good and Mike was hungry so he pushed in through the batwing doors and propped himself against the bar. A woman came to meet him with a smile; she was tall and graceful and topped with red hair,

"Well here's a new face," she stated bluntly, running him up and down with a smirk. People in Hardman seemed to like doing that. Finally the woman winked, "Very cute. Now, let me guess, you have just got off the stage and you want some good hot food inside you?"

Mike blinked,

"Uh, yeah. Wow, that was impressive."

The redhead smiled,

"I'm Donna, I know everything."

"You do?"

" _Everything_."

"Okay," Mike nodded; challenge accepted, "So what about me? What brings me to town?"

Donna leant forward over the bar top, dropping her chin down into one hand. Clearly she felt her newest patron was going to be an easy read,

"Well if that hideous bag is anything to go by you are some sort of travelling salesman, I'm guessing cheap remedies which are most likely spring water but which _you_ tout as ancient Oriental cures. You pick on small towns but never stay long because although you think we're uneducated morons you still don't want to be tarred and feathered when we find out that we've been had. That probably means you come from the East, one of the big cities, maybe New York. You had a nice upbringing, good education but somewhere along the way something went wrong and now you've convinced yourself that this is the very best you can do when it's painfully obvious that it's not," she stopped with a flourish, "How am I doing?"

Mike gaped back at her; stunned into silence,

"Uh," he blinked, "I'm still cute right?"

Donna smiled at him, jerking her head towards the cluster of tables,

"Take a seat puppy, I'll bring your food out."

Mike chose a table close to the kitchen hatch figuring it would cut down his wait time. It was also next to an ongoing poker match which Mike planned on sliding into once he was done demolishing his meal. In the meantime he could scope out his competitors; three in total, all of them older including two who were clearly local men and dressed neatly without a covering of trail-grit. The third man however was a drifter like Mike; wearing a long and well-travelled duster, a generous belly and unkempt hair. Judging from the smell of him he was also a drinker and judging from the small pile of cash by his side he wasn't too shabby at card games either. Perhaps they complemented one another.

The game seemed quiet and unusually leisurely, not helped by the blistering afternoon sun. The piano tinkled in one corner merrily and one of the local men jiggled his foot to it. His pile of money was smaller than his cohorts' and Mike wondered if the music was putting him off. Someone somewhere dropped a shot glass and as the sound of broken crystalware rang out the gamblers looked up in vague shades of alarm; all except the drunken traveller whose fingers crawled across the table and swiftly pulled some coins from the pot. Mike watched him do it with a blink of surprise. He waited for the other players to notice but when they looked back they seemed happily unaware.

"Are we playin' cards here or jumping at shadows?"

As the traveller growled wearily a fellow player sighed,

"Alright Mr. Henderson,"

" _Joe_ ,"

"Alright _Joe_ , no need to get rattled, my move was it?"

"Get on with it then."

They carried on steadily with Mike watching warily, positively _willing_ them to spot the deceit. They didn't; maybe folk didn't go south in Hardman. Maybe Joe was their very first cheat. Mike on the other hand could see one a mile off; as a card sharp himself it was like wearing a hat. The problem with Joe was that he wasn't a _good_ cheat – he wasn't palming or marking the deck or anything technical or skillful – instead he was rat-holing, stealing the pot short and any lazy moron could do that. It almost gave a bad name to cheating.

A click of heels announced Donna's arrival, mixed with the dual smells of perfume and food.

"Here you are puppy,"

"Uh, actually it's Mike,"

Donna blinked at him,

"No, I prefer puppy," she placed the steaming plate down in front of him, "Oh and just so you know, I serve the best food in town."

"I'm sure you do," Mike nodded back at her, "You wouldn't happen to have a room for the night?"

"I think we could probably find _somewhere_ to put you up. Money in advance, no exchanges or deals. You want a room you pay for it, I'm not taking some made-up love potion in lieu."

Mike chuckled warmly,

"Duly noted,"

"Come to the bar when you're finished eating, I'll have one of the girls show you up to your room," she winked at him roguishly, "They're extra too."

Despite himself Mike felt his cheeks flush hotly,

"Uh, I – I wouldn't – uh, no thank you."

"Suit yourself," Donna went to walk away but as she brushed past him Mike grasped her wrist lightly, pulling her round and down to his ear, "Hey – ,"

"The man at the table beside us is cheating,"

Donna's eyes flickered over towards them, quietly discounting the two local men and settling on the full-figured traveller.

"Damn it," she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut, "I knew he looked like trouble. How?"

"He's going south, pocketing money from the pot when the others aren't looking."

"Nice catch puppy,"

"I have some expertise."

Donna looked back at him, watching his brows lift. She sighed at him wearily,

"Don't tell me, you're a damn cheat too."

"Yeah," Mike shrugged, "But you knew that already right? I mean, you're Donna."

She nodded,

"Of course. Now step back and watch the master at work."

She left his side with a rustle of underskirt, expertly navigating her dress through the chairs. By the time she arrived at the poker table a hand had risen to rest on her hip and her face had transformed into something unreadable. It was two parts amusement to one part fury with a dash of other ingredients on top. She hadn't even opened her mouth but her body language spoke volumes and at her arrival the players looked up.

"Good afternoon gentlemen," she greeted them sweetly; a little too sweetly, "Having a pleasant game?"

The two local men nodded back at her warily; their response telling Mike all he needed to know about her reputation in the township. Joe Henderson on the other hand didn't much seem to care and simply continued to shuffle his cards around.

"If you don't mind Red," he grunted sarcastically, "We're not looking for any company right now."

Donna bristled but her smile stayed wide,

"Oh don't worry, that's not why I'm here. See unfortunately for you, _I'm_ the owner and I don't like having cheats in my establishment."

Abruptly the piano stopped playing its melody and the room fell quiet as conversations were hushed. Mike wasn't even sure how they had heard her but perhaps in a tiny town like Hardman people were more attuned to dissent. Either way suddenly everyone was watching. Donna however seemed unconcerned.

As, surprisingly, did Joe Henderson.

"What are you implying Red? Are you calling me a cheat?"

"No, I'm saying that I _know_ you're a cheat and not only that but you're a _bad_ cheat too."

For a second Joe Henderson didn't say anything, he simply sat and chuckled to himself. It was instantly unsettling and sitting beside them Mike felt the skin on his arms start to prickle. Donna took him on like a champ,

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise that you being an asshole was funny. Now maybe you'd like to laugh your ass out the door and _never,_ _dare_ darken my establishment again."

As the last of her threat echoed sharply around them Mike watched Joe Henderson finally look up. He was grinning eerily but his eyes weren't following; instead they were cold and icy with rage. Suddenly he shot to his feet, his chair flying backwards and hitting the floor. In less than a second he was standing in front of her and in less than two seconds Mike was wedged between them both; fully prepared to defend Donna if necessarily yet utterly unaware of how or when he had moved into position.

"Hey, take it easy," he started steadily, trying to keep the hitch from his voice. His hands were up and open in front of him in what he hoped was a gesture of peace, "Maybe it's just best you leave."

"Mike," Donna interrupted behind him. He hadn't been expecting her to speak; let alone sound so angry when she did, "Get out of the way. I can handle this."

"Donna – ,"

" _Mike_ ," she answered him warningly, "I'm serious, get out of the way before you break something."

"I'm not planning on breaking any bones Donna,"

"I didn't mean you. I meant my saloon."

Mike frowned back at her with wounded eyes as in front of them Joe Henderson let out a chuckle.

"Tell you what Red," he offered sarcastically; wobbling unsteadily on his feet. He readjusted his pants with one hand and Donna wrinkled her nose instinctively, "You and me go upstairs for an hour and _then_ I'll leave. How about that?"

The spunky proprietress smiled back thinly,

"Oh sweetie, you couldn't afford me."

Joe smirked widely and held up a coin; with his free hand he reached over to pluck at Donna's dress and although she didn't move a muscle, Mike stepped forward in hot outrage,

"Hey," he frowned, slapping the hand away, "Show some respect."

" _Mike_ – ," Donna warned but there was a hitch in her voice and hearing it only hardened Mike's resolve. He wasn't exactly a natural fighter but he was also not a natural coward and his scrappiness had come in handy more than once.

Joe Henderson stared back at him; fury in his eyes,

"Out of my way _boy._ "

"I'm twenty eight."

Joe Henderson stepped in closer; his hot round belly pressed up against Mike until the younger man could feel it rumbling. It was only mildly less offensive than his breath.

" _Boy_ ," he repeated and Mike felt a bristle of anger.

"Hey, back _up_ ," he snapped and offered a shove. Joe stumbled backwards but recovered with speed and came back with a wide and swinging right-hook. It caught Mike's cheek at the exact same moment that Donna shouted out a warning; marginally too late to be of any use. Pain exploded along his jawline and his vision swam and briefly turned black. As his legs gave way he took out the poker table, catapulting money and liquor across the room.

"Hey," one of the locals protested standing up to vent his frustration but stepping right into Joe's next swing. He careered away wildly into the bar and collided with another two gruff looking drinkers.

"Oh," he stuttered, "I'm terribly sorry."

Sadly his apology counted for little and by the time Mike's world had stopped spinning unevenly there was a full-blown brawl in progress around him. As someone collapsed in a heap at his feet he scrambled up and ducked a wild kick. The saloon was in chaos and filled with screaming on top of the crashing of tables and chairs. He couldn't see Donna or Joe Henderson but given that he had seemingly riled both of them he figured that was probably a positive turn. It was as someone crashed into the piano behind him that a sudden thought hit him and scrambling over the broken furniture he headed for the spot where his sales case had been. It took a few seconds to paw through the debris but finally his bag fell into view – a little shabbier than it had been before the fight but otherwise somehow miraculously untouched. Mike let out the sigh he'd been holding.

 _Thank God._

"Hey you!"

His relief didn't last; a hand enclosed around the back of his shirt collar and lifted him bodily back onto his feet. As the air supply quickly started to falter he gasped and dropped his bag to the ground where it landed with a fiercesome rattling of glass. His toes only barely scuffed the woodwork as Joe Henderson lifted him up off the floor.

"You and me got some unfinished business _boy_ ,"

Mike's heart started to hammer wildly. As situations went it wasn't a stellar one; he had no gun, no advantage and no clue how to free himself and with every second that passed as he considered his options, his oxygen supply grew weaker and weaker. He would die being held up and choked by a madman in a dusty little town that no one had heard of.

His grandmother would be wholly ashamed of him.

"Any last words?"

None came to mind although as Mike hazily debated it the batwing doors flew open behind them and a tall man dressed in a black three-piece suit stepped over the threshold and pulled out his gun. Levelling it upwards he fired it three times and the screaming doubled then faded away. Slowly everybody stopped fighting and as Mike's fuzzy eyes took in the newcomer he noticed a sheriff's badge glinting in the sunlight.

"Donna? What the hell is going on in here?"

Donna didn't answer him – at least not that Mike heard – choosing instead to hit Joe with a chair which she brought down hard across his shoulder blades, snapping off not one but two of the legs.

As Joe crumpled earthwards his grip on Mike softened and they both hit the floor in a tangle of limbs. For a second Mike felt like his throat had been flattened but suddenly the oxygen returned at a rush – sending him into a volley of spluttering as each inhalation scratched a path to his lungs.

"Wow," he managed to croak out gratefully, "Thank you Donna."

He looked up in time to see her fist move horizontally then fell into darkness as it caught him on the cheek. He would definitely be wearing bruises come nightfall.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi all - I know, I know, I said bi-weekly postings but then work went mad and I've just not had the chance to re-read this chapter through until now. As ever the mistakes are my own as are any bits I get spot on! Thank you for your continued kind reviews. The story itself is all written now, it's just a case of me finding time to re-read, adjust and polish before posting but at the very least I can do once a week.

Now, on with the story and for those waiting for Harvey and Mike to meet (properly) here it is...

* * *

 **Four.**

Mike awoke to the comforting sensation of someone pressing a cloth to his jaw. It was gentle, compassionate and oddly familiar and turning his head towards it he groaned,

"Mmm, Grammy, that feels good. But a little higher, my cheek still hurts."

Somebody above him chuckled. It was gentle and feminine and _not_ his Grandmother; his very definitely _not living_ Grandmother.

Suddenly it all came flooding right back to him; love potions, bar fights, swinging redheads. _But wait –_ he frowned – _if that isn't Grammy..._

His eyes flew open and blinked into another pair; deep brown sitting over pink lips. Thick dark hair fell over her shoulders and tickled lightly against his head. She smelt of rosewater and freshly washed linen and seeing her hovering so close beside him Mike felt his confusion double.

"So," she murmured, "You're awake."

"I – uh – yeah I guess."

The woman rose her brows and moved the cloth, wincing a little as Mike hissed in pain,

"Sorry. You've got quite a bump. Donna must have hit you hard."

Pushing himself up onto his elbow, Mike blinked painfully into the light. For the first time he was aware of his environment and the bars were not a welcome sight. He was lying in a _jail_ _cell_. Even worse Joe Henderson was slumbering in the one next to him.

"Uh – is he – am _I – ,_ "

"In jail," the woman finished, "Yes. The sheriff dragged you over here once he'd broken up the fight. You are _not_ popular right now. Oh and don't worry, _he's_ still out."

She jerked her head to indicate Joe Henderson; snoring fit to wake the dead. Mike frowned,

"So why aren't you tending to him instead? Is it because I'm cute?"

The woman snorted,

"Who gave you that line?"

"Donna."

"Ohhh," she exhaled; nodding to humour him, "Well then it _must_ be true."

Mike put his hand out,

"Mike Ross, salesman."

The woman smirked back at him,

"Hmm, I know. I saw your bag. I took a look at some of your _medicines._ Very impressive."

"You think I'm a scam artist," Mike surmised. It wasn't too much of a stretch; he had met more than his fair share of vociferous detractors and it figured that somebody with training would agree. He shrugged, "Okay, so I may not be a doctor like you but – ,"

"Oh," she put in, looking away from him; for the first time she seemed to be almost embarrassed and it briefly stopped him in his tracks, "I'm not a doctor. I'm a healer."

Mike blinked,

"A healer?"

"But I could _be_ a doctor," she fired back fiercely, taking one of his hands with hers and using it to pin the cloth to his cheek. Evidently she was all done holding it and Mike couldn't help but feel he'd hit a nerve, "Despite what people around here say."

"What do they say?"

"That I'm a woman. That my grandfather was a slave. That's all the colleges need to know."

She sounded bitter so Mike kept quiet, trying to think of the right thing to say.

"Well," he offered eventually, smiling, "You're the prettiest doctor-clever _non_ -doctor I've ever had patch me up."

The woman laughed despite herself, shaking her head ruefully at her quirky new patient.

"Are you seriously complimenting me right now? When the saloon is in pieces because you tried to be a hero?"

Mike frowned, feeling mildly offended. Was everyone pissed at him for wanting to be chivalrous?

"He was threatening Donna."

"Donna can take of herself, believe me."

"That's what she said," Mike offered ruefully, turning the cloth over as it started to heat up.

"So why didn't you listen to her?"

"What can I say," he shrugged, "I'm old fashioned. Besides, it's the way my grandmother raised me. We're not the kind of people who can just sit back and watch when someone's in trouble. Even if the odds aren't good, we have to try."

The healer blinked back quickly; narrowing her eyes at him. On seeing the sincerity behind his story however something in her brown eyes softened.

"Your grandmother?" she questioned carefully, taking the cloth away from his grip to wet it again before wringing and returning it, "What happened to your parents?"

"They're…gone," Mike offered and briefly their eyes met.

"Rachel,"

"Huh?"

"My _name_ is Rachel."

Mike put out his one free hand,

"Nice to meet you _Doctor_ Rachel,"

She chuckled mildly and shook her head at him but slipped her fingers into his without debate. Her shake was strong and surprisingly authoritative as was her semi-playful gaze.

"Despite everything I'd heard, it wasn't too horrible meeting you either, _salesman_ Mike."

For a second they continued to smile at each other; their fingers still intertwined tightly together. It was a mixture of flirtatiousness and challenge; with each of them seeing who would break away first. In the end however it was near simultaneous as the tread of heavy boots interrupted them and a sarcastic voice cut in through the moment.

"Well, I see you don't waste any time."

Mike looked up towards the sheriff. He was a tall man – probably around his own height – but he held himself taller with authority and confidence which trebled his appearance and made him imposing. His head – now hatless – exposed short well-coiffed hair and his personal grooming extended down to his wardrobe and the immaculate black three-piece suit beneath. A gun belt hung from his hips at an angle and the badge shone brightly along his lapel. From the top of his head to the bottom of his boot heels every last inch of the man screamed _power_ and even though he tried to deny it, Mike couldn't help but feel slightly awed.

Rachel cleared her throat and whipped the cloth from his cheek again, although this time when he hissed she didn't seem worried.

"Sheriff Specter," she offered meekly. He raised a brow back at her,

"Rachel. Having fun?"

"No. Actually I was just leaving."

As she rose Mike hauled himself upright, quickly wishing he hadn't as his head spun.

"Ah, ouch – wait,"

Rachel ignored him banging the door of the jail cell shut and turning to chart a path around Harvey. He stopped her with a look and gestured to Joe Henderson,

"What about him?"

"Unconscious – for now. I wouldn't want to be nearby when he wakes up though."

Both turned quietly and looked towards Mike who blinked back at them warily and then to the cell wall. The gap between their prisons was minimal and if Joe pushed himself right up to the bars then it was possible he could grab Mike physically from _through_ them. Hastily he skittered back across the bunk,

"Uh, those bars will hold him, right?"

Harvey smirked back him,

"Probably,"

"Well you see _probably_ is not really that reassuring. Can't I just move to another cell?"

The sheriff held his hands out sarcastically, indicating the space at a wave,

"Sure, which _other_ cell would you like? One on the top floor with a balcony and bath? We don't _have_ any other cells genius. You should just be grateful that I didn't make you share."

Standing beside him Rachel coughed lightly and Harvey blinked across at her, clearly surprised,

"Are you still here? Haven't you got bandages to wind?"

Rachel pulled a face at him, equal parts apology and flat-out resentment.

"Hey, don't talk to her like that,"

As Mike's instinct once again took over Harvey looked up at him; sharp eyes narrowing.

"Don't you think you've done enough jumping to the rescue for one day already?" he asked in both outrage and pure disbelief, "I mean, you've already gone and trashed the saloon – could you maybe leave the jail intact?"

Mike winced despite himself,

"Is it really trashed?"

"That depends on whether or not you like drinking beer from the floor."

"Is Donna okay?"

"No," Harvey frowned, "She's pissed. Did you not get that from the hook to the cheek? By the way, what part of _stay out of it_ do you not understand?"

Mike threw his eyes skywards,

"I _know_ ," he sighed, tired of repeatedly having to explain himself, "But I was trying to help."

"Next time, don't."

"Okay, I get it. I should have listened," Mike admitted, standing up. He wobbled briefly but pressed forward anyway; wrapping his fingers tight around the bars, "I'll apologise to Donna, I'll help put the saloon back to together, I'll do whatever you need me to do. Can I just _please_ get out of here? Before I'm strangled by Wild Bill Hiccup?"

He gestured to Joe, still snoring contentedly and then turned back to the blank-faced lawman.

"No,"

Mike blinked,

"Wait, _no_? Come on. Harvey right? I've said I'm sorry. I've learnt my lesson. You don't need to punish me anymore."

"I'm not punishing you," the sheriff responded, softening by the smallest of fractions at the desperate look on the younger man's face, "I'm _protecting_ you."

"What?"

Harvey heaved a weary sigh,

"Look. You think you can just start a brawl and _not_ piss off about a half dozen guys? _That's_ why you're in here because, trust me, if they murder you it'll be a hell of a lot more work for me. You're not being punished," he paused, "Not entirely."

"So I'm just supposed to stay here?" Mike frowned, "For how long?"

"The next stage comes in on Friday, I'm putting you on it."

" _Friday_? But that's nearly a week! You can't just keep me here!"

"Actually," Harvey responded, "I can. My jail, my rules."

For a moment the two men stared; Harvey daring his prisoner to challenge him and Mike gaping wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Nearly a week in a prison cell? It was official. The town of Hardman was _not_ worth the journey. Which reminded him –

"Hey, where's my case? What happened to my case?"

Rolling his eyes Harvey reached behind the desk, producing the familiar bag like a magician pulling out a particularly uninspiring rabbit,

"Relax, it's here," he ordered coolly, before quickly dispensing the final blow, "But you can forget about having it back again."

" _What_?" Mike spluttered. He couldn't be serious, "Why – _why_ not?!"

"You think I'm going to let you loose to con more people? What kind of lawman would I be then?"

Mike shook his head; it felt like a nightmare. His chest felt tight; his breathing faltered,

"You can't do that. Look, it's my _livelihood_. You can't just _take_ it."

"I'm not taking it, I'm _confiscating_ it," Harvey replied evenly. At the near nervous breakdown of his prisoner however the sheriff's exterior briefly wavered. The kid was practically apoplectic and something about it pulled at his resolve; fleetingly – very _very_ fleetingly. In the blink of an eye he was back to normal, "Besides, this isn't up for discussion. Now, I'm going to help Donna clear up _your_ mess and I suggest you keep your voice down, unless you want Kid Blurry over there to wake up and remember the reason he's in here."

Before the younger man had the chance to counter him Harvey turned and headed for the doorway. He wasn't quick enough however to miss the final plaintive request,

"Please."

He briefly shut his eyes,

"I'm sorry," he murmured, putting his hat on, "It's my job."

As he strode out he brushed past the healer, standing quietly beside her ablutions and looking both sad and a little shamefaced. She was his last chance; his very last chance.

"Rachel," he called desperately, "Rachel _please_ ,"

"I'm sorry Mike," she shook her head, "I can't."

Then she too was gone; following Harvey out of the door and leaving him alone and broken.


	5. Chapter 5

Here we go all - I was genuinely hoping to get two chapters up over the last week but, of course, I then became ill and I've only just dragged myself off my sick-bed long enough to re-read this. I'm off from work this week so hopefully can get another up a bit quicker but honestly, the way I've been going, don't hold your breath!

Thank you to my lovely reviewers. I love that little hitch of excitement when I see a review in my inbox - followed by that panic that it might be a flame! Glad people are coming on this kooky little ride with me and enjoying it. There's a lot more to come.

* * *

 **Five.**

By the time Harvey reached The Can Opener the majority of the clearing had already been done and the broken furniture was piled on the boardwalk waiting for someone to carry it away.

Despite the story he had spun Mike earlier, inside the saloon the damage was minimal and encompassed only broken tables and glassware. The upright piano had lost a castor but since no one had examined it in several months it was difficult to say when or where it had happened far less attribute it to the brawl. In fact – when Harvey thought about it – there had been more damage the night Donna had brought in the actress, who had got the stage all the way from New York and caused not so much trouble as a full scale riot with later added marital discord. Donna had stopped trying to _liven things up_ after that episode. It was the one night he'd have gladly accepted a deputy.

Inside Donna's girls were hard at work restoring things; righting tables and reordering chairs. The saloon itself was unusually empty and as a result the doors clattered loudly as Harvey pushed through and let them swing.

Donna was stood in the middle of the clean-up, delegating briskly and handing out brooms although she stopped as soon as her eyes found Harvey's and softened to something he didn't often see.

"How is he?" she asked gently as the sheriff frowned back at her,

"Who, the cheat?"

" _No_ , the puppy."

"You mean the guy that started it all?" Harvey countered in baffled amusement as Donna sighed and threw her eyes skywards,

"Yes, _Mike_ – and he didn't mean to start anything Harvey. He was only trying to help."

"Oh no," he groaned, "Not you as well. I've just had the exact same song from him. Besides, do I have to remind you that _you're_ the one who punched him into next week?"

"Which should be punishment enough, he doesn't need to be locked up Harvey."

"Well like I told him, it's for his own good."

Donna quirked her head at him; her piercing eyes stared into his soul,

"Which is something I think _you_ actually believe."

"Donna – ,"

Righting an upturned bar stool with a clatter Harvey took a seat on it wearily, dropping his hat down onto the counter. Donna crossed behind it and poured him a drink – not letting him finish the rest of his sentence.

"So Jessica's trying to make you hire a deputy?"

"She can try all she likes," Harvey responded, taking a sip and wincing mildly, "It's not going to happen. Not with the list of candidates we've got."

"Jessica wouldn't let you hire me, huh?"

Harvey looked up at her with a smirk of fondness; sometimes the redhead knew him too well.

"At least I tried."

"So let me guess – now she's given you a deadline and if you don't make your choice by then she's just going to do it for you?" Harvey stared back at her quiet and blank-faced. She didn't need his intervention, she was Donna, she already knew, "Who's her first choice?"

"Who do you think?"

"Louis?"

"Yep," Harvey nodded, smiling sarcastically. He paused to take another sip of liquor. It was bigger this time; he felt he needed it, "She wants him to be _my_ backup."

"It's not the worst idea she's had."

Harvey almost fell off the barstool,

"Oh come on Donna! It's a _terrible_ idea."

"Why?" she responded annoyingly even. It meant she was about to make a very valid point, "Because you think _he'd_ be terrible or because the thought of having to work together is terrible?"

Harvey narrowed his eyes at her, his tone taking on an edge of sullenness,

"Can't it be both?"

"He's a good shot Harvey."

"Sure," he nodded back, "When its tin cans lined up on a wall. But do you really think he'd be _half_ as good facing down an outlaw or in the middle of a shootout?"

Donna's silence said it all and Harvey threw up a hand in victory.

"So what are you going to do?" she asked, watching as the sheriff stared back at her wearily. Finally he sighed and shook his head,

"Besides finishing my drink? I have no idea."

"Well," Donna offered; surprisingly bright, "You might want to think of something, because here comes Jessica's first choice now."

"What?" Harvey blinked, looking up with a start. Louis was peeping in over the batwings; his eyes and forehead the only part of his face that was visible but proving instantly recognisable. Harvey turned back to the bar with a groan, "Perfect."

"Harvey," Donna hissed, "Be nice."

Behind them Louis entered tentatively, pushing through the batwings as if they might bite and then crossing the floorboards in much the same way. At one point something crunched under his boot heel and he leapt a foot in the air in surprise,

"Don't worry Louis," Donna reassured him, as he peered at the floor to examine the damage, "It's just a little broken glass. I'll have one of the girls sweep it up."

Big eyes rose to meet hers, horrified,

"Donna, what happened here? Are you hurt?"

"No Louis, I'm fine, it was just a misunderstanding, that's all."

"Misunderstanding?" the bank manager replied, clearly struggling to comprehend, "But – but all the broken furniture outside – you call that a _misunderstanding_?"

Donna nodded briskly,

"Yes. One of my clients thought that it was acceptable to cheat at cards and I _politely_ informed him that it wasn't."

"So he tore your business apart?"

"Well," Harvey sighed with a long look at Donna; he continued to press home his earlier point, "He probably _wouldn't_ have had it not been for the _puppy_ trying to play hero along with the big dogs."

Donna didn't budge an inch,

"The puppy who realised he was cheating in the first place. He's sharp and what's more his heart is in the right place. That counts for a lot Harvey, _especially_ out here."

"So how did he figure out Joe was cheating?"

As Donna faltered Harvey nodded, gleaning everything he needed,

"Right, let me guess. _He's_ a cheat too. So much for his heart being in the right place. He's just as bad as the moron who started it."

Throughout their exchange Louis had been watching them; his narrowed eyes snapping back and forth. At the mention of the main protagonist however he glanced sharply at Harvey and coughed disdain,

"Who – I hope – is now behind bars?"

" _No_ Louis," Harvey fired back at him. His dripping sarcasm made Donna wince, "I gave him a medal and made him dinner. Don't worry, your wife will make him breakfast – see, that's funny because you're not married."

Louis drew himself up proudly,

"Maybe not, but that could change."

Harvey pulled a face,

"What does that mean?"

"It _means_ ," Louis responded grandly, fumbling around in his inside pocket for something they could only guess at, "That I have this,"

He drew something out. Despite themselves both Donna and Harvey leaned in closer to take a look. It was a small stoppered bottle filled with liquid; an off-pink liquid with a label on top. Harvey read it then looked up in bafflement.

"Rheumatism ointment?"

Louis laughed pityingly,

"Oh Harvey," he sighed, shaking his head until the lawman's frown deepened, "You who claim to be a man of the world but can't see what's staring him right in the face."

"Louis – ,"

" _This_ is going to change everything. With this I shall win not only my rightful place as the deputy sheriff _you_ so desperately need – ," Harvey bristled; Louis didn't notice, " – but the hand of this town's most radiant maiden."

Donna blinked,

"You mean Jessica?"

Louis looked back at her, his expression softening. Reaching out he took her hand,

"Oh no – no Donna, don't be upset. You know I think you're radiant too it's just _this_ – ," he moved a hand between them, " – could never work you know? We're just too similar."

Harvey's ensuing derisive snort earned him two cold hard death-stares but he shrugged them off easily to ask a question,

"Louis, do you really think you're going to win Jessica over by presenting her with a treatment for her joints? Because on top of everything else – which includes your general appearance – Jessica doesn't _have_ rheumatism."

"I know that Harvey," Louis glared back at him, "It's not for her bones, it's for her _spirit_ and the ardour that will forever be mine."

Donna and Harvey exchanged a look with the saloon-owner taking over the questioning,

"Louis, what do _you_ think that is in that bottle?"

Suddenly he looked suspicious, drawing it back in close to his breast and cupping it tightly between his palms.

"Nothing. Why?"

Harvey grinned,

"Where did you get it?"

"That's none of your business."

The sheriff held out a hand at head-height,

"Let me guess. A young guy – say late twenties – with dirty blonde hair, blue eyes and a case?"

"Maybe," Louis blinked uncertainly as Harvey's knowing smile grew wider,

"How much did he get you for?"

"Oh, like I'd tell you," Louis sneered back at him, full of indignation and outright derision, "Do you think I'm an idiot? I know _exactly_ what you're trying to do here Harvey and it's not going to work. You're trying to find out the price so you can track him down and try to offer more."

Harvey spread his hands wide,

"You got me."

"Well that's not going to happen and I'll tell you why, because I paid him _triple_ for this little beauty and unless you pay him _more_ he's not going to look at you twice."

For a second Harvey merely smiled at him, fighting hard to keep from laughing. Suddenly he was filled with a new admiration for the plucky bar-brawler parked in his jail cell and throwing back the rest of his drink he collected his hat and stood from his stool.

"Louis," he offered as sincerely as he could muster, patting the bank manager's shoulder peaceably, "I wish you and your love potion every happiness. Now, if you'll excuse me there's someone I want to go and congratulate."

He threw some money onto the countertop and exchanged a final look with Donna. She was amused too but it was mixed with vague sympathy. She always had held a soft spot for Louis; a small one maybe but there nonetheless and he knew she hated to see him swindled. Then again – he reasoned as he stepped onto the boardwalk to a blast of cool and dusty air – she seemed to have a soft spot for their newly arrived con artist too and with that thought in mind he headed for the jail.

There was a well-worn pack of cards in his pocket that was itching for a worthy opponent and it seemed as if Mike had that to offer. Besides, he wasn't going anywhere; maybe he could play for his freedom. Crossing the street Harvey let out a chuckle,

"Triple the price? That god damn swindler."

It was shaping up to be one hell of a game.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi all - just a short one today, very much a filler, but it's setting up for the next chapter which I _think_ might be my favourite of all of them. Anyway, I will put that one up Monday, so this will just have to tide you over until then. Happy Rugby World Cup Final weekend!

* * *

 **Six.**

Given that he was by no means a calm man, it was perhaps no great surprise that the manner of Joe Henderson's reawakening was every bit as violent as his putting-down had been; heralded by a war cry and a thrashing of limbs.

"Wh – wha – what? _Where am I_?"

Clearly the sleep had done him few favours and as the bellow echoed around the jail Mike jumped from his bunk and stuck to the wall.

"That _bitch_."

Mike assumed that Joe meant Donna and momentarily – not to mention ungallantly – he was glad his presence had been lost in the shuffle. More wild flailing of arms and legs followed as Joe Henderson tried to bust free of his blankets but only succeeded in wrapping himself tighter.

"God damn it – god _damn it_."

There was a thud as the bigger man rolled clean off his bunk, landing heavily on the un-swept floor and sending up a small cloud of dust. The brief spell of coughing stifled his protests.

"I'll show her."

For a moment anyway; because as he rolled awkwardly onto his stomach Mike fell squarely into his sights.

" _You_ ,"

Despite being only one single word it was loaded with deep and dripping venom and accompanied by flecks of spittle that fell half-heartedly across Joe's chin. Before Mike even had the chance to reply the drunk was stumbling onto his feet and collapsing chest first against the bars that separated them. His chubby fingers looped around them so tightly that Mike was concerned the man's knuckles would pop off.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Uh," Mike blinked; thinking frantically, "That saloon owner. She got me too. That…uh – ,"

He stopped just short of copying the _bitch_ analogy figuring that – since Donna knew everything – it was just as likely to thread back to her somehow and more than likely earn him another punch. Instead he rolled his hand in the air and fortunately Joe Henderson picked up the drift,

"That _bitch_."

"Yeah," Mike nodded instantly, "Uh-huh. _That_."

Plausible deniability. Perfect.

"But wait a minute," Joe's eyes narrowed. A thought was occurring to him; slowly, very slowly, "Aren't _you_ the one who ratted on me cheating?"

"Yeah but _she_ hit you over the head with a chair, remember? Me? I'm not much of a fighter. I'm more of a talker."

Joe eyed him steadily,

"Ain't you just."

"So really – when you think about it – we're in the same boat here."

Joe stared back at him with a sharp-eyed squint and for a moment Mike wasn't sure whether the drunk was trying to understand or trying to see. In the end he decided it was probably both. Then – suddenly – Joe started to laugh; a guttural chuckle that shook his jowls and exposed a row of tobacco-yellowed teeth. The expression was more mocking than genuinely amused and for a moment Mike wondered what had triggered the reaction. Fortunately he didn't have to wait too long,

"Us?" Joe snorted, "You think we're the same?"

"Well, I mean, we're both – uh – we're both – ,"

"You and me, we ain't _nothing_ alike and when the rest of my boys get here, you'll see that for yourself, first hand. You think getting hit with a chair is bad? We're gonna tear this place _apart_."

Mike blinked,

"The rest of your boys?"

"Yeah," Joe grinned, his dull eyes glinting, "The Rattlers. You've heard of us."

"Uh, sure," Mike lied in appeasement, watching Joe Henderson's chest puff out. Clearly he was decidedly proud of the dubious-sounding company he kept, although for his part Mike wasn't sure how much was bravado and how much was genuine reputation. In the good old Wild West there were hundreds of outlaws and just as many kooky nicknames that tried to bolster the element of mystery but he had never heard of The Rattlers before and if Joe was indicative of their hiring prowess then he strongly doubted he ever would. Then again the glint in the eye was proving surprisingly unsettling.

"Rattlesnake Tanner," Joe continued, "He's the boss. Ain't no one like him, that's for sure. He'll show that sheriff a thing or two then _I'll_ show that no good Red a thing or two myself. Hell, I might even take her with me. A bit of company for the road."

Mike shuddered. It wasn't an attractive image and even though he was pretty sure that all Joe's talk would lead to nothing he couldn't help the flicker of doubt that maybe – just maybe – crazy Joe wasn't lying. He evidently didn't think he was.

"Yep. They're coming alright. I can taste it in the air."

Suddenly Mike had a brilliant idea. Or, at least, he felt it was a brilliant idea... _if_ it worked.

"So, this Rattlesnake Tanner. He's coming here?"

Joe nodded eagerly,

"You better believe it."

"But, doesn't that mean he's going to see you sitting here in jail because you were knocked out by a woman? I mean, I don't know about him, but if _I_ were running a gang of hardened outlaws, I'd be pretty disappointed. Wouldn't it look better if you had already broken out and, I don't know, laid waste to the town yourself or something?"

Joe Henderson growled at him as if he were insane,

"How _exactly_ am I supposed to break out? You got a key?"

"No, but, come on, a man of your size? I'm pretty sure you could just bust right out. These bars can't hold you, right?"

In demonstration Mike gave them a shake and Joe Henderson watched as the metal wobbled.

Clearly he was thinking it through and as he waited Mike held his breath. It was kind of a long shot – he would admit – but if Joe broke free one of two things was going to happen. Either the big man would be so grateful that he would – in turn – free him as well _or_ if he didn't, Mike could simply raise the alarm and hope that the heroism would earn him his freedom. Simple really.

In the cell beside him Joe Henderson chuckled,

"You know what boy? I think you're right. Hell, my grandma could break through these bitty things,"

"You still have your grandmother?" Mike offered back, his expression gaining an air of sad wistfulness, "That's nice," as Joe stared at him oddly he quickly cleared his throat, "I mean, uh, she must be a strong woman. But how exactly do _you_ plan on getting through them?"

Joe rolled up his grubby shirtsleeves, shuffling backwards towards the wall. Once there he bobbed up and down on his heels as if preparing himself both mentally and physically and then he threw Mike a wide, crooked grin.

"Watch and learn boy, watch and learn."

"Please tell me you're not going to – ,"

Mike's protest came out a fraction too late because even as the words were entering existence Joe was moving – surprisingly fast – and straight towards the tall iron bars. Headfirst. Actually, _literally_ headfirst. The results were both loud and utterly predictable and as an ear-splitting clang rang out around him, Mike winced and instinctively screwed shut his eyes. He opened them again just in time to catch Joe Henderson falling face first onto his bunk and turning it instantly into firewood. Splinters exploded in the small space around them, easily clearing the narrow cell bars and sprinkling Mike with a shower of fragments.

In less than a second Joe was snoring and Mike was all the way back at square one.

"Great," he muttered, heaving a sigh. Looking down he kicked a piece of errant former-bunk wood, stopping when it skittered across the ground with a metallic sounding twang. Bending down he picked it up and looked at it closely. Two thin, slightly rusty and very bent nails stared back at him.

Two thin, slightly rusty, very bent and _lock sized_ nails.

Mike smiled. Time for Plan B.

As Joe Henderson snorted in his sleep loudly and lashed out at an imaginary sheriff, Mike smiled wryly and climbed to his feet.

"Sweet dreams Joe," he murmured quietly, crunching his way across the debris and trying not to be too loud, "Give my regards to the rest of the Rattlers."

Inserting the nails into the lock Mike slowly started to apply gentle pressure to one of them, turning and manoeuvring the other carefully, waiting for the moment he heard the give. He felt bad at the thought of disobeying Harvey – for reasons that surprised but mostly confused him – and for having caused trouble for Donna, but at the same time he couldn't afford to leave town without his livelihood and he didn't doubt the sheriff on that point. Harvey would send him packing empty handed and he could not – no, _would_ _not –_ let that happen.

"Hardman," he sighed as the door lock clicked open, flooding his system with relief and regret. In the end his course continued unaltered, "It's been…fun, I guess."


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, so here it is, the long one! This chapter is actually the first one I wrote in my head (if that makes sense?) As in, before I even committed this idea to paper I was mulling this 'scene' over and over and crafting it. As a result this represents my creative peak, if you like. It's also my favourite.

In this one we learn more about both characters' histories. My only word of warning is that I've had to change their pasts slightly (because car crashes and pot smoking doesn't really gel with the Old West) and although things are pretty much the same, they're also different...all of which explanation has cleared up nothing, so probably best we just get on with it.

* * *

 **Seven.**

Depending on which way you looked at it – which depended entirely on who you were – Harvey's timing was either perfect or regrettable, since on opening the door to the jail the first thing he saw was prisoner number one – Mike – standing over the desk, a pen in one hand, his case in the other and his cell door hanging tellingly open.

"What the – ,"

For a second the younger man didn't seem to see him, but at the amazed-sounding splutter he finally looked up and although he didn't speak directly, his face moved through several variations of _oh shit_. As he stopped writing – Harvey blinked, _writing_ – an astonished silence fell between them, ending only when Harvey slammed the main door. At the movement Mike's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Look – ,"

"What the hell are you doing out?" Harvey interrupted sharply, looking between the guilty-faced swindler and the previously locked, _metal_ cell door, "How did you get out? Are you _writing_?"

Mike blinked back at him,

"That's more than one question. Do you want me to answer all of them? Because if you do then – in order – I'm leaving, I picked the lock and I _was_ writing you a note," he shrugged, "It didn't seem right to just leave."

"Yeah and I'll tell you why," Harvey snapped back, "Because you're _supposed_ to be _in jail_. You don't just walk out, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Yeah, but _you_ said it was to keep me out of trouble. So I figured if I just kept _myself_ out of trouble then it would be best for everyone – you know – I get my freedom and you don't have to keep me from getting murdered. It's a win-win, right?"

"Wrong," Harvey intoned flatly, before remembering something and stopping, "Do we even need to talk about the fact that you're holding your case? The case I made clear that I was confiscating?"

Mike glanced down at the bag in surprise, almost as if forgetting it was there. When he looked up again however there was a harshness to his face that Harvey wasn't quite prepared for. So the younger man had conviction. Good for him.

"I know, but I can't let you take it."

"It's not your choice."

"No, it's yours. So here are your options. Either you let me take my case or you don't. _But_ if you put me on a stage coach and send me to the next town with nothing to my name it's only going to result in me having to turn to a life of crime in order to feed myself _which_ – counteractive to your earlier argument – will have a far _more_ detrimental effect on law and order than my selling a few fake and, for the record, _harmless_ tonics."

Mike finished with a deep breath; steeling his resolve. Harvey was staring back at him through narrowed eyes, clearly trying to sound something out although what exactly that was the younger man didn't know and nor could he guess.

"So let me get this straight," the sheriff drawled at length and although his tone seemed easy there was something far too casual about it, "You're giving me an ultimatum?"

He stepped closer and Mike stepped back; away from the desk.

"Well, I wouldn't call it an _ultimatum_. I'm just presenting the options and – uh – hoping that you'll choose the right one?"

He sounded optimistic but instead of answering him Harvey looked down at the hastily scribbled note, lying on the table-top.

 _Sheriff,_

 _Not that the bed, board and company wasn't great but I have decided to find myself alternative_ _accommodation for the remainder of my stay in town. I won't get myself into trouble and I won't sell anything else. I will be on the stagecoach on Friday._

 _Michael Ross._

He snorted wryly despite himself, remembering Donna's earlier lobbying and her insistences that the conman had a good heart. Harvey wasn't entirely sure that breaking out of a jail cell counted towards that but leaving a note apologising for it probably did. When he looked up again, Mike was still staring at him; back against the wall, his expression wary.

Letting out a long sigh, Harvey dug a hand into his inner pocket,

"I'll tell you what," he growled, "How about we play for your freedom – _and_ your case."

Clearly, among the various items the younger man had expected to see drawn out of the jacket, a pack of cards had not been a feature and so as Harvey let them slide into his palm and began to shuffle with flashes of red and black, Mike frowned then opened and shut his mouth,

"Play?" he managed eventually, "You want to play cards? Did Donna not – did she not tell you – ,"

"That you're a professional cheat?" Harvey countered, dragging across a chair and sitting himself down so that his arms rested on the edge of the desk, "Yeah, she did. But see, I'm not one of your usual clueless drunks. I've not been beaten yet and I don't intend to start tonight and definitely not to you."

Despite his ever-present caution Mike was intrigued,

"How can you be so sure you'll win?"

"Because I read people. It's my job."

"I thought your job was locking up people who were just trying to help out redheaded business owners."

Harvey looked up at him, trying hard to suppress a smile,

"You really want to bait me right now? Or would you like me to ask why Buffalo Ill over there is face-down in what used to be his bunk?" jerking a thumb over one shoulder he indicated the still-snoring Joe Henderson and watched as a hint of panic flashed over Mike's face, "You think I don't know you had something to do with that? That you somehow convinced him to try and break out?"

"How did you – ,"

"I told you," Harvey stared back, "I read people. Now are you in or out?"

Mike took a breath,

"What happens if I lose?"

"Then you walk yourself right back into that cell and wait here until Friday, like I told you."

"What about my case?"

Harvey eyed him steadily,

"What do you think?"

"Okay," Mike nodded, thinking it through, "What if _you_ lose?"

"Not going to happen."

"But if it does," the younger man pressed, clearly deciding to shoot for the stars and there was a part of Harvey that admired the optimism, "I walk out of here _with_ my case and am free until I leave on Friday, like I told _you._ We have a deal?"

Harvey blinked up at him for a second, then shrugged,

"Sure," he snorted, "We have a deal."

As he continued to shuffle the cards, Mike dragged over another chair, setting his case down carefully beside it. Harvey watched him do it surreptitiously, wondering if the care he took over the potions was driven by their being made of glass or something deeper and more unconscious. As the younger man sat himself down opposite he glanced at Joe Henderson and cleared his throat,

"You know," he started and no sooner had the words left his throat than Harvey knew he was angling for something, "He _did_ hit his head pretty hard on the bars. Maybe we should call for Rachel, you know, just to check up on him."

"He'll be fine,"

"How can you tell?"

"Because he's snoring," Harvey replied and something about the way Mike's shoulders slumped made the lawman smile to himself, "You ever heard of a man sleep himself to death?"

"No, I guess not."

"Well then."

In the renewed silence Harvey started to deal out the cards, slapping them down onto the rickety table and watching as they slid into Mike's waiting hands. Evidently however the lack of conversation didn't sit well with his newest charge,

"You know he's a Rattler?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harvey drawled back, finally finishing dealing the hand. Mike shrugged,

"I don't know, he said it was a gang – they call themselves the Rattlesnakes, led by a guy called Tanner?"

"Never heard of him," Harvey replied, staring pointedly between his hand and Mike's; he had a ten, Mike had a king. The betting round began with him and since they were playing for more than money, Harvey decided to up the stakes, "I'm betting your bed sheets on this. I win this game, you're sleeping on bare wood."

Mike rolled his eyes,

"Really? You're not at all concerned about this gang? He said he could _smell_ them coming to bust him out."

"Then we should be able to smell them too – the wind's blowing in from the east tonight."

"Harvey," Mike frowned, "I think he was serious."

"I'm serious too, now are you in or do I have to just lock you straight back up again?"

" _Fine_ ," the younger man huffed, "I'm in, but if _I_ win this game, you have to call Rachel back."

Harvey snorted loudly,

"Wow. Look Romeo, I'm going to give you some advice – don't waste your time, she's never going to go for you."

As he spoke he dished out the next card. Mike wasn't even paying attention; he was too busy frowning back in offence. Mike drew another King, Harvey a second club.

"What? Why?"

"Because she's worked hard to get to where she is now and build up the respect of people in this town and she's not about to throw it away by getting involved with the con artist who turned up in town one day and not two hours later ended up in jail. Your bet."

Mike glanced down, surprised by the cards but with a bet ready-made and raring to go.

"If I win you tell Donna to give me a room until Friday."

"And if I win you wait in jail until the stage _next_ Friday."

Mike frowned at him,

"Oh come _on_ , this is against every law ever made."

"Who says?" Harvey answered blithely, not quite prepared for the answer he got.

"The Magna Carta, for one. No free man shall be seized or imprisoned, or stripped of his rights or possessions, or outlawed or exiled, nor will we proceed with force against him, except by the lawful judgment of his equals or by the law of the land. To no one will we sell, to no one deny or delay right or justice."

Harvey blinked,

"Did you just quote the Magna Carta at me?"

"Maybe," Mike shrugged, suddenly looking mildly embarrassed and anticipating the next question; _how?_ "I tend to remember things I've read, besides, my father was a history professor."

"Well then he should have taught you that _free man_ in the context of thirteenth century law referred to the nobles, not everyday people like you. The Magna Carta never intended to keep ordinary men out of jail."

Harvey's response was surprisingly quick and something about the spark it fuelled in him took him right back to his classroom debates. Clearly Mike was surprised by it too and Harvey could see unspoken questions whirring around behind the bright eyes. It was an expression matched in himself; Mike's father was a professor of history? Then how the hell had his son become a shyster?

"Maybe not," Mike replied, "But it's the basis of the constitution and in the context of _American_ law free men does include everyday people – specifically, in this case, me."

Somewhere in the background Joe Henderson snorted and muttered something in his sleep. To both men's ears it sounded like _rattlesnake_ and although Harvey would never admit it, a spark of warning lit up in his head. Once he was finished kicking the kid's ass at poker, he would find out more about the gang and their leader. Mike's edginess was obviously rubbing off on him and suddenly curious he held off laying out the third and final face-up cards.

"So why do it?"

"Huh?" Mike blinked, "Do what?"

"Why con people?" Harvey asked him evenly; judging from the way the younger man looked down the answer was going to be by no means straight-forward, "I mean, you seem smart enough and you obviously came from a good family, so why throw away your opportunities?"

For a second Mike simply continued to stare at him; waging some kind of internal battle. Finally however he let out a sigh and the tense position he'd been holding in the chair seemed to uncurl and slump a little. Somehow – on some level and for reasons unknown – Harvey Specter had earnt his trust.

"I didn't throw them away," he answered and suddenly his voice seemed small, "Somebody else threw them away for me. A friend – ,"

"Some friend."

"He used to be."

At Harvey's small head nod of encouragement – mixed in with just a dash of impatience – Mike sighed again and carried on,

"My father taught in New York, my mother was a writer. I always assumed that I would just take after one of them, probably my mother. They died in a fire when I was eleven," Harvey looked up at him, genuinely surprised. The expression on the younger man's face was blank but it was obvious – at least it was to him – that it was a very carefully crafted look; the result of years of pretending to have put it behind him. Harvey knew that expression well but he sat back quietly and let Mike continue, "I went to live with my Grandmother. She used to let out a room in her house to a family – that's when I met Trevor, he was the son. He always had these big ideas – of how he was going to make himself a fortune, drag his family up from nothing. My Grandmother paid to put him through school and he got a job with a bank – investments. He was doing pretty well for himself too. Then a couple of years ago my Grandmother died and everything she had and everything my parents' had came to me."

Harvey could see the rest coming from a mile away but he couldn't stop himself from asking,

"Let me guess, that's when Trevor comes to you with an idea, some big investment that couldn't possibly fail?"

Mike nodded slowly,

"Something like that."

"So you went for it?"

"No, actually I didn't. I told Trevor that I wasn't prepared to gamble with my inheritance."

Harvey nodded; that sounded more like the Mike he knew – or didn't really know at all, but felt that he did. After all the kid was a pretty easy read. Donna might have been wrong after all, his heart was by no means in the right place – he was wearing it right on the cuff of his sleeve.

"So what went wrong?"

Something in Mike's blank expression wavered,

"Trevor forged my signature. Put it all in – every last cent. He was so convinced it was going to work. Instead it was wiped out overnight – everything my parents had worked for, everything my grandmother had saved. I had nothing. Not even enough to finish my education. I couldn't stay in New York anymore. I didn't want to be surrounded by the memories so I spent the last few coins I had on a train ticket west – spent most of the journey sat opposite a peddler and by the time we made it out here he'd taught me everything he knew. I won that case in a card game. So when I say it's everything I have in the world, I mean it."

His expression throughout the story had hardened so that by the time he finished and looked up at Harvey there was a powerful mixture of fire and sadness that swayed the lawman's conscience more than he had banked on. Harvey cleared his throat roughly then nodded to the table top,

"Your bet."

The younger man seemed relieved to be back in the present and easily picked up from where they had left off,

"Okay, if I win _you_ have to publically buy one of my remedies."

Harvey chuckled disparagingly although in reality the expression was born of respect – not to mention a healthy dose of _no way in hell is that going to happen_.

"Fine and if I win _you_ have to pour the whole case away. One bottle at a time."

Mike bristled,

"Fine."

Harvey drew out his card first; another club – that wasn't too bad. As he went to draw for Mike however he was cut off by a sudden question,

"So what about you? How does a sheriff in the middle of nowhere become such an expert in Magna Carta legal-speak?"

"Because I haven't always been a sheriff," Harvey responded, resisting his instinctive urge to tell the kid to back off on bringing in the Inquisition. After all, he deserved a nugget, "I've been here for six years. Before that I was a lawyer."

"Wait, a lawyer?"

"Harvard educated, sixth in the class."

The pride in his tone was unmistakeable as was the total confusion in Mike's.

"But then – how did – I mean, how _does_ – ,"

"A Harvard graduate end up here?" Harvey finished, waving his hands, "Jessica Pearson."

"The mayor, right?"

"Way to keep up," Harvey nodded, "Yeah. The Mayor. We go back – she funded my education. Then she married Quentin and ended up here along with half of the bad guys in the West. When the old sheriff died she asked me to help her turn the place around. Six months the deal was – ,"

"But you never left."

Harvey shrugged,

"What can I say? I'm loyal."

In the pause he flipped down Mike's final face-up card; it was a Queen – the kid was still doing well but suddenly the game didn't seem so interesting. A strange equilibrium had been reached.

"If I win," Mike began half-heartedly, "You post people on the roads into town for the next week to watch out for the Rattlesnake Gang."

Harvey blinked back at him, surprised by the request. There was an instinct in Mike that wasn't totally dissimilar from the one he sometimes felt govern himself. He nodded slowly,

"And if _I_ win you get to take your god damn case," the younger man's eyes lit up in astonishment but before the gratitude could come in waves, Harvey held up a warning finger, "But don't make me regret it or I swear – ,"

"You won't," Mike stumbled keenly, "I promise."

"Oh and another thing – did you sell a love potion to Louis Litt for triple your usual bullshit price?"

"Uh," Mike paused, not knowing where he stood, "Maybe?"

The sudden smirk put him instantly at ease,

"Nice work,"

"Thanks. Hey, is he _always_ like that?"

"Yep."

"Is he okay?"

"Not as far as I'm concerned," Harvey shrugged, decidedly off-hand, "But everyone else seems to think it's normal and for Louis it probably is," his fingers curled around the last two cards in front of him, lying face down on the battered old table. He looked up at Mike and took a breath, "You ready?"

Mike copied reluctantly,

"I guess."

He seemed crestfallen as if somehow, some way he already knew he'd lost. As a result it was no great surprise to see that his last two cards – once fully turned over – held a five and an eight, or in other words nothing. Harvey however had two more clubs although his victory felt flatter than he was used to. Standing up Mike sighed and picked up his case. He handed it across the table to Harvey.

"Here, until Friday."

The sheriff took it doubtfully, watching as the younger man turned on his heel and headed dejectedly for the cells.

"Look, Mike – ,"

He didn't get any further; suddenly the jail was interrupted by a low and distant rumbling of thunder and a faint hail of noise that started quietly but picked up quickly as it drew in closer. It took a second to realise that the thunder was horses and the noise was the whooping and cheering of voices. Harvey was up on his feet in an instant but it wasn't until the first shot of gunfire that Mike was clued in to what it all meant. A voice broke in through the haze with a cackle and both men turned with healthy surprise to find Joe Henderson standing up at the bars, his fingers wrapped around the ironwork and his crooked-toothed grin both broad and eerie,

"They're here. I told you. The Rattlers are here."

Harvey grabbed his hat from a peg; his hands moving to his gun belt instinctively.

"Mike," he ordered flinging something across the room at him. Mike caught hold of it, quick but clumsy. It was a gun, "You stay here. Watch him. Don't let him out of your sight. You ever use a gun before?"

"Yes – but – but what about you?"

"Don't worry about me," Harvey answered tersely, stalking quickly for the door, "Just, for once, do as I say. Don't let _anyone_ through this door. You understand? _No one_."

"But – ,"

Mike's faint protests fell on deaf ears. In the next second the door was slammed shut and Harvey was gone out into the night. Mike locked the bolt behind him hurriedly, then turned back into the room. Joe Henderson was staring back at him, his head cocked to one side like an inquisitive dog. It was possible he was trying to work Mike out – after all, before he'd knocked himself into oblivion the pair had been _sort of_ , very vague allies. Now the sheriff was handing him a gun. Of course it was also possible that Joe had knocked out his very last brain cell and was working solely on concussion. Either way, Mike didn't like it, nor the accompanying dry-lipped chuckle,

"Oh he's coming. Ain't no one can stop it. Rattlesnake Tanner will blow you away."

* * *

Okay, so for anyone who is wondering the boys are playing Five Card Stud, which was the most popular kind of poker back in the day. Also, I'm a history graduate and trust me when I say I've done my fair share of debating on the good old Magna Carta - I basically pinched the arguments from the countless books and debates I engaged in on it. Actually it was quite fun to dredge it all back up again although thankfully I refrained from visiting Runnymede - it's November, it's cold and I'd have to get a train. Besides, Windsor is better, it's got the most amazing cake shop opposite the castle. But I digress...


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight.**

By the time Harvey made it out onto the street many of the townsfolk were out gawping too; peering down the long single road and trying to make something out of the gloom. The pounding of hooves was thundering closer as was the raucous whooping and cheering. It was a noise that Harvey had heard before and to him it was a sure sign of trouble; a celebration of the chaos still to come. It struck both fire and fear in his heart.

"Everybody go inside," it started as a simple command but within a second he was shouting it broadly, "Everybody, inside, _now."_

Donna and Louis joined him out on the boardwalk,

"Harvey – ," the redhead started worriedly, her dark-rimmed eyes wide with questions.

"Donna," Harvey responded evenly, "Go inside and lock the doors."

"But what about you – ,"

"Will everyone stop worrying about me?!"

Louis stumbled forward unsteadily; catching his heel in the material of his pants. At least he could be fully counted upon _not_ to worry an ounce about his sheriff.

"Harvey?" he barked, his tone accusing, "What's happening?"

"We're under attack."

"What? By who?"

Harvey set his face grimly in response,

"I'll explain later,"

"Damn it Harvey, I – ,"

Donna interrupted him; in the second since she had appeared outside she had the whole thing figured out neatly.

"It's Joe Henderson isn't it? He has friends."

"They call themselves the Rattlesnake Gang, they're led by a man named Tanner."

"Harvey – ,"

"Donna," he responded quickly, proving that the redhead wasn't the only one in town who could run a sideline in knowing everything, "This isn't your fault. But even if it was I'd still be telling you to go inside. _Now._ "

The saloon owner stared back at him, conflicted for a moment,

"Want me and the girls to cover you from the upstairs windows?"

Harvey smiled,

"That depends, you still got the blonde who can shoot the petals off a daisy?"

"Katrina. I'll give her the shotgun."

"Thanks Donna. Hey, you know you're _my_ deputy right?"

"Of course I do," she tossed back coyly, turning to usher her girls inside and throwing out hasty instructions as she did, "Bertha barricade the door, Stephanie get out the guns, Katrina you're on sharpshooter duty. Let's get moving ladies, we don't have much time."

All around and along the street buildings creaked and groaned with activity. Within the small and rigid structures occupants were bolting and barring the doors; dragging furniture up to the windows, hiding their families and loading their guns. Tell-tale barrels began to point out of windows and seeing them filled Harvey with the first shreds of relief. Slowly Hardman was arming itself and behind him the first of the braver residents came out to hover and face the fight head-on. Oddly Louis too seemed poised for battle and as the pound of hoof beats shook the ground he moved a shaky hand to his belt and removed his ornate, pearl-handled gun.

"Okay Harvey, where do you need me?"

"As far away from me as possible."

"Huh?"

The fear in the smaller man's eyes was palpable and as the small furrowed frown turned back his way Harvey felt himself soften a fraction. Grabbing a handful of expensive grey suit he frogmarched Louis across the street, pulling him firmly into place behind a water trough and pushing him down until his figure was hidden,

"Just keep your head down Louis, do what you can."

He didn't even seem to realise that his knees were planted in the dirt; in any other situation he would have been apoplectic.

"Someone should warn Jessica,"

"There's no time. Besides, she'll hear soon enough."

The cacophony of the approaching marauders was coming into its final stages and Harvey could already begin to pick out the sound of individual voices. He wondered idly which one was Tanner and if he would be able to spot him within the crowd. Down on the ground Louis grabbed hold of one of his pant legs.

"What about that guy? Joe Henderson?"

Harvey shook him off again, one eye primed on the end of the street.

"He's fine. I've got Mike watching over him."

"Mike? Who the hell is Mike?" Louis blinked, before slow realisation seemed to strike, "Wait, the _salesman_? I thought he was locked up in jail. What, now he's _running_ the place?"

"No Louis, he's not _running the place_. But he knows how to handle a gun and I trust him. Besides, it's not like I've got many options."

Despite the tension of the impending situation and his obvious white-knuckled terror, Louis still seemed to puff himself up as if some form of affront had been laid on his character,

"You have me,"

"Yeah," Harvey deadpanned back and as a gunshot cracked off loudly ahead of them the bank manager startled and launched to his feet. The sheriff pushed him roughly back down again, "That's what worries me."

"Harvey – ,"

"Louis just stay down."

It was all the advice he had left to offer him and knowing that the gang was just moments away he turned and crossed back over the street, hunkering down behind a stack of barrels which had been standing outside Gunderson's Groceries for three days. Usually Harvey hated how Harold's stockroom perpetually spilled out onto the boardwalk but in the moment it was practically a godsend; a ready-made bunker with a good clean view.

Further along on the first floor of the saloon Harvey could hear the windows sliding open and when he chanced a quick glance up he could see Donna's girls getting locked and loaded.

Hardman was as ready as it was ever going to be.

Then came the hush; except it wasn't – not really. The thunder of the horses was almost ear-splitting and joined in its crescendo by sporadic gunfire; every crackle erupting like dynamite. Each guttural, slurred and angry voice became clear and distinct as it carried it down the street and then – as if the rest had just been for show – the Rattlesnake Gang itself emerged; bleeding out of the darkness like phantoms but moving fast and hard and with one thing in mind.

Harvey stilled himself; waiting for a second and then he stood and fired straight on. He was down again behind the barrels in the time it took a man to blink but in the tiny spit of silence that followed he was greeted with a groan and a tell-tale thud. So far he was one for one.

Then, abruptly, all hell broke loose.

Spurred on by the success of their sheriff the waiting townsfolk unleashed themselves; firing back in such rapid succession that for a moment it sounded like organised volleys. Out on the street shrill whinnying rang back as the horses panicked and lost their formation; much to the frustration of their shouting riders who either kicked them forwards or dismounted altogether, scattering outlaws in every direction as the fight descended into close-quarter combat.

Harvey threw himself upwards again; sharp eyes finding out dispersing figures and picking off another with practised ease. The streets were alive with the sounds of gunfire – no longer in any semblance of order and dispatched from both sides with desperate need. Above it all came shouting and ordering and among the few voices he had already heard was another, harsher tone that was new to Harvey. Narrowing his gaze he found out the caller and instantly knew he was looking at Tanner.

"Go, go – break inside! Leave nothing!"

The leader was a tallish man – perhaps only an inch or two shorter than himself – but thinner; wiry and scrappy looking. His hair was slicked back away from his face and held so firmly with lashings of oil that even as he spun to fire and pushed his men towards the fight the coif stayed firmly, strictly in place. His dark-brimmed hat was pushed back jauntily to expose the hair and kept in place beneath his chin with a tie which framed a square-looking jaw. Harvey levelled his gun across the street and almost on instinct Tanner stopped and turned on the spot to gaze across at him; pale eyes staring into his soul, utterly fearless and devoid of compassion. Harvey's finger tightened on the trigger.

The figure that came charging in loudly from his right caught him almost completely off-guard and spinning towards it he was just in time to catch the man around the midriff. Unfortunately however he was not quick enough to stop the newcomer from knocking him backwards and together they smashed bodily into the barrels, scattering them like bowling pins and spilling the contents right across the boardwalk.

As he landed heavily Harvey felt the breath rush out of him, joined from the front by a sudden crush of weight. His attacker recovered first and was moving in an instant, swinging down a meaty fist and gracing Harvey with a close-up look at a badly-trimmed beard and poor dental hygiene. Shifting Harvey dodged the blow and then replied with a fist of his own, knocking the outlaw briefly off-balance and then bringing his legs up to kick him back. As the weight rolled off his stomach heavily Harvey gasped and dragged in some air, turning and groping in the spilt flour for his gun. His fingers had just about closed over it when his legs were grabbed and he was dragged away backwards; hands then hauling him upright from behind. In response Harvey snapped his head back, connecting heavily with a soft, bulbous nose and eliciting a scream of pain. As the pressure on his shoulders weakened he dropped back down towards the floor and grabbed his gun up before turning back towards the spot where Tanner had been standing across the street. The leader of the gang was gone and the street and boardwalk across the way was so filled with smoke and horses and gunfire that Harvey couldn't even see where he had gone.

"Burn it down!"

As a bullet whistled overhead, Harvey ducked and headed for cover. The barrels were no longer of use to anyone – including Harold, which would not go down well – and with his first-choice cover blown to oblivion Harvey backed up and jumped off the boardwalk, tucking himself down the side of the building and shooting at an outlaw galloping past with a flaming torch held up in one hand.

Briefly through the chaos he spotted Louis, still in place and firing steadily even though his hands were shaking. _Huh, go figure_. His attentions were drawn however by a noise to his right and a figure launching off the boardwalk towards him. Fortunately, of the two, Harvey was quicker and in the blink of an eye his firearm was raised and centred squarely on the outlaw's head. It was the same man as before, his nose visibly broken and his expression none-to-happy as a result. Confidently Harvey pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. The gun had jammed and knowing it the outlaw grinned,

"This is payback for my nose."

As the pistol rose up to a spot between his eyes Harvey braced himself with a flicker of annoyance. _God damn Jessica_. _God damn Hardman._ To think he could have been a lawyer somewhere; sitting in an office, rolling in money with a nice house to go home to and a servant or two. Instead he was destined to die out West, another footnote in the pages of history.

Fortunately the gunshot never rang out and instead his bloody assailant gasped and toppled forward to land at his feet. For a second Harvey simply stared at him, then – as the confusion enveloped him – he looked up and into the face of a newcomer.

Mike Ross stared back at him; his gun butt still raised.

"Are you okay?"

"Mike?" he blinked in bewilderment before following it quickly with sharp irritation, "I thought I told you to stay in the jail,"

"Uh, _y_ _ou're welcome_ ," the younger man shot back huffily, "And I _was_ until I saw you getting your ass kicked."

"Hey, I was _not_ getting my ass kicked."

"He was going to shoot you!"

"For your information I had him right where I wanted him."

Mike eyed him steadily,

"About to shoot you? Wait, you _wanted_ to get shot?"

"Alright," Harvey answered heavily, holding up a hand for peace. The back of his head was thumping wildly, "How about we argue this later? Right now we've got bigger fish to fry."

A whoop of elation from out on the street caught Mike's attention and he turned to a figure crouched low behind a water trough, firing rapidly and looking possessed. He frowned in confusion,

"Is that – _Louis_?"

Harvey ignored him.

"Come on, we need to get back to the jail."

As he went to move off however, Mike caught the sleeve of his jacket quickly,

"No, Harvey wait. We need to get to Donna."

"Donna? Why?"

"Because Joe's going to go after her and considering how outnumbered we are here, I'm thinking there's a pretty good chance of him getting out – which means the best way to keep Donna safe is to get to her before he does."

Harvey stared back at him; around them the battle continued to rage but for the moment neither one of them paid much attention. Clearly the sheriff was trying to figure something out. Probably he was wondering why the conman was suddenly so invested in their little town and if he was honest then Mike was half-wondering the exact same thing, although it seemed a strange time to conduct such an introspective appraisal of himself. Finally Harvey offered him a nod,

"Okay, we find Donna but once she's safe I'm coming back out and I'm kicking Joe Henderson _and_ this Tanner guy back to where they came from. Come on."

Together they peeled back onto the boardwalk, keeping themselves low and pressed to the wall. Around them gunfire still rang out wildly and it was almost impossible to tell who was winning. The smoke swirled strongly around the street and there was a telling crackle of flames somewhere near – the telegraph office, Mike realised dully, the gang were cutting communications. Feet and indistinguishable figures ran yelling and fighting and screaming in the dark and Mike was glad of Harvey in front of him, charting a quick path through the chaos.

Just as they were reaching the looming saloon – which seemed to be the source of much of the gunfire – three figures hunkered on the other side of the street caught Mike's attention and he narrowed his eyes. They were men – Rattlers to be exact – and they were crouching by the outside wall to the jail, clustered in a tight bunch and fretting over something. One of them struck a match against his stubble and suddenly Mike realised with a lurch what they were doing. Reaching out he grabbed hold of Harvey's jacket,

"Harvey, _Harvey_ – ,"

The sheriff batted him off again testily,

" _What_?"

"Dynamite."

Mike pointed a fraction too late. By the time Harvey had spun towards them the outlaws were scattering and the flame had taken light. It snaked a path through the gunpowder brightly, zigzagging a neat little scorch-mark in the dirt. It hit the jail wall – to Mike's ears – silently and although he thought he heard the boom it was already too late to save him from the darkness. As the wall blew out in an eruption of masonry that carried easily across the street, he and Harvey were hit by the fallout and pelted in a hail of rock and debris. He saw – then felt – Harvey leap on top of him then something heavy hit him on the head and his world went black to the shrill sound of ringing.

* * *

Well, it wouldn't be the Old West without a gun fight, right? Hope you enjoyed and as ever thank you for all your lovely reviews - just what is needed on a cold November afternoon.


	9. Chapter 9

It's that time again! Thank you once again for all your reviews. Hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. We're now into the business end of the story so from hereon in there be drama. Enjoy.

* * *

 **Nine.**

When Mike opened his eyes his ears were still ringing; a continuous whistle that sent shockwaves of pain buzzing through his nervous system from the whites of his eyes right down to his toes.

For the briefest of moments Mike assumed he had just blinked but then tiny fragments of memory returned along with his senses; one by one. His face felt hot and flickering light licked around the corners of his somewhat cloudy vision. Turning his head with surprising difficulty he took in a smouldering pile of rubble, flanked by three dishevelled outer walls. He frowned mildly. Was that the jail?

Explosion.

 _Harvey._

He sat up suddenly; the dramatic shift in altitude rocking his already unstable equilibrium.

"Woah."

He put a hand to his head; a round bump nestled in his hairline greeted him and when he pulled his fingers away they came back sticky and slick with red. As he shifted into his knees a scattering of rocks and assorted debris fell away from his dusty clothes and looking around he could see just how heavily the blast had showered them. He could also see a figure lying beside him, almost obscured by pieces of wreckage.

"Harvey," he coughed, his voice sounding raspy. Crawling across he pushed off the masonry and gave the older man a quick appraisal. Amazingly he seemed okay; not even scuffed although his suit would need washing and possibly stitching, "Harvey,"

As he shook the sheriff's shoulder he was greeted with a frown and a low-sounding groan, as if – even in the realms of unconsciousness – the well-groomed lawman was terse and gruff. Still, at least he wasn't terse and dead, which Mike considered a major victory. Shaking him harder he tried again,

" _Harvey,"_

This time the sheriff brushed him off and as the ringing in Mike's ears subsided he became aware of the noise for the first time. The gunfire was still crackling around them but was far more sporadic and less direct as if the fight was dying out. Mike wasn't sure which side had won although distantly there was the sound of screaming and the rush of feet and frantic shouting as townsfolk tried to put out the fires that were raging in several smaller buildings. It was as Mike turned towards them however that another voice broke through the haze and he registered the speaker with a stab of alarm,

"Take your hands off me _now."_

Donna.

Staggering clumsily to his feet Mike whirled round towards the saloon. A number of the gang were mounted beside it, clearly planning on taking their leave. The doors to the saloon were open and the sound of crashing and shouting rang out. Whatever had been left of Donna's furniture was obviously getting continued rough treatment – which brought him back to the woman herself. Donna was being hauled across the boardwalk; dragged towards the street by two burly men. One of them Mike recognised as Joe Henderson who had obviously been liberated by the blast and unfortunately not obliterated like the wall had been. The other was a new bearded goon. Suspended between them Donna was fighting, swinging her arms and clobbering her captors; her heels dug into their shins repeatedly and although the men winced and swore like devils they kept their grips unflinching tight.

As they drew up next to the lead horse, Joe Henderson smiled up at a tall thin man,

"What do you say Tanner? Can I bring her along?"

Donna elbowed him in the gut and he groaned and leant forward but still didn't let go,

"If you think I'm going anywhere with you, you're wrong. I would rather chew off my own fingernails than spend so much as a _second_ with you."

The other bearded outlaw grabbed her by a wrist, reaching down into his pocket and pulling out a pair of pliers. Mike frowned. Who kept _pliers_ in their pocket? Maybe in a past life the man had been a blacksmith? He leant into her face and smirked a little.

"That can be arranged."

Despite the threat the redhead stared fiercely, daring them to do their worst. Even from along the boardwalk Mike could see the fear shining in her eyes but she kept her head high and held her nerve. in the silence Mike stumbled unsteadily towards them. He could almost sense the déjà vu. Before he could get there however the taller rider spoke; his voice was cool and eerily amused.

"Alright, enough. The red comes along."

Donna glared up at him,

"Like hell I do."

She wasn't given much of a choice; as Joe Henderson swung up onto his mount the other man hauled her across to him and helped to manhandle her onto the saddle. She fought it every step of the way but Joe Henderson wrapped his arms around her and held her in place,

"Gonna be real fun red, _real fun_."

"I will kill you in your sleep."

Even when she was hard up against it Donna was still evidently full of sass. Mike liked that; he guessed Harvey did too. As he stumbled towards them quickly Tanner turned his horse away,

"Alright," he announced to the gruff looking group and with a final smirk towards the chaos they had caused, "Time to ride out boys. Our work here is done."

The gang replied with a whoop of elation and as one they turned to follow their leader. Mike's heart began to pound dramatically and before he knew what he was doing he was running alongside them, shouting out,

"Hey, hey – hold on a minute. _Wait_!"

Without fully thinking he threw himself in front of them, flinching violently as the lead horse skidded. When he opened his eyes again the bay mount's chest was an inch from his face and the breath from the animal was hot on his face. A smirking face peered over the reins; like a coyote gazing down at a cornered rabbit.

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

From somewhere in the group he heard Donna hiss. Unbelievably she sounded irritated by his arrival.

" _Mike_ ,"

He ignored her and took a steadying breath. He was working on another plan but it wasn't fully ironed out yet. If he could just keep them talking long enough for Harvey to wake up or maybe regroup...

"I want to join you."

Tanner grinned,

"You want to what?"

"I want to join you," Mike replied, trying to sound even despite all the stares. Having an entire gang of outlaws peering down at him was a lot more nerve wracking than he'd banked on; not that he'd really given it much thought. In the semi-baffled silence Tanner chuckled,

"Really? So who in the hell are you?"

"That's the kid that ratted me out," Joe Henderson spoke up gruffly from behind and for the first time Mike could pick him out of the group; Donna perched uncomfortably in front of him and staring down in concern and confusion.

"Mike Ross and the only reason I _could_ rat you out is because you don't cheat half as well as you think you do," Mike retorted, earning a snort. Clearly Tanner liked the fight.

"So _you_ do, huh?"

"Actually yes, and more than that, I'm the best scammer you've never met."

"Oh really?"

Mike nodded,

"I remember things – _everything_. Once I've seen, read or heard something I don't forget it. Which means not only can I cheat at cards but I can recall anything you want, _including_ numbers, say to open a safe or maybe a bank vault?"

At the merest allusion to stolen money Tanner's eyes glinted and almost betrayed him. Then Joe Henderson spoke up again, only this time he sounded petulant as if he knew which way his leader was moving.

"Hey, hey Tanner. Ask him why he was making nice with the sheriff? Ask him why the sheriff gave him his _own_ gun and told to watch over the prison."

As Tanner stared down at him Mike shrugged easily,

"What do you think? I was getting him on-side. I _thought_ that if I held the prison against attack the town would give me some kind of reward. But if you can offer me something better then I would be crazy not to ask, right?"

"You think that's reason enough to take you?"

Mike stared back, his confidence growing. If Harvey couldn't come to the rescue then he was just going have to hold out until he did which meant somehow becoming a Rattler; anything to keep Donna close. If Tanner liked sass then he was going to give it,

"You're asking the wrong question."

"Enlighten me," Tanner drawled; his eyes remaining icy and sharp.

"The question shouldn't be _if_ you should take me – it's how did you make it this far _without_ me."

Tanner smiled; it was thin and unnerving but it was also oddly approving as well.

"Get him a horse."

Mike blinked in amazement. Evidently Joe Henderson felt the same way and as Tanner manoeuvred his restless horse past him, the bulky outlaw steered himself closer,

"But – but Tanner – ,"

The other man spun back, the anger was palpable.

"Are you questioning me?" the leader growled, "Or do I have to remind you of the three men we just lost coming all the way out here to rescue _your_ sorry ass. The sorry ass I _told_ you not to get into trouble? Huh? So think very carefully about your next sentence."

Joe Henderson stared back; his cheeks burning red,

"Okay Tanner, okay, you're right."

"Damn straight."

A spare horse appeared beside Mike without warning and he stared at it blankly wondering what kind of steed it was; a ride they had stolen from some poor townsperson or a criminal mount used to gunfire and speed. Swallowing a ball of nerves he swung himself up onto it shakily. It felt solid and steady; a criminal horse. He didn't know it that made things worse but it certainly made him easier to ride. Around him the gang was peeling away, lead by Tanner from the front,

"Let's ride!" he yelled and at once the gathered outlaws took off. Mike's horse joined in out of solidarity and as the bodies jostled close together he found himself beside Joe Henderson and braced himself for some kind of hit. When it came however it wasn't from Joe and instead he found himself being pummelled by Donna. He was obviously a better actor than he had thought, either that or Donna wasn't half as on the ball as she had pretended to be. Then again, considering she was being kidnapped by a bulky moron and his unsettling compatriots Mike supposed he could let her off a little; which was more than she was doing for him.

"You bastard! You _betrayed_ us. Harvey was right this _is_ your fault."

"Hey – ," he protested, flinching from the blows and noticing Joe Henderson did little to stop her, "Hey Donna, _stop."_

It ended only when the road began to widen, as the town slid behind them and the horses could spread out – which they did instinctively without being asked to.

Free from the beating Mike heaved a sigh and tried to shake the stars from his eyes; between that and the double dose of concussion he was starting to feel more exhausted than ever. Only now he _had_ to stay alert.

Looking back across his shoulder he watched the town of Hardman get smaller. The eerie glow of several fires threw thick red light above the roofs and he hoped against hope that the damage wasn't too bad.

A feeling settled down deep in his stomach and his palms sweated heavily. He was out of his depth but he couldn't turn back. This time he was going to save Donna and he was going to do it properly whether she appreciated it or not.

He could only hope that Harvey caught up and caught on to what he was doing, otherwise they would both wind up dead.


	10. Chapter 10

Here we go again, chapter ten, we're cracking along now! Many thanks for continuing to read and I hope you enjoy this instalment.

* * *

 **Ten.**

In the hour since the gang had made off, Rachel Zane had kept herself busy. It wasn't hard; there was plenty to do, not least of all extinguishing fires and tending to the worst of the wounded. Fortunately the only dead were outlaw men – three in total – and not townsfolk, although many of the residents were hurt or shaken.

Three buildings had been gutted by fire and the jail was completely devoid of one wall, along with the majority of its roof. On seeing it her pulse had quickened and it surprised her that her first thought was Mike. Picking among the debris however had only turned up his battered case, remarkably – almost impossibly – intact. Which left one question; where was Mike?

It was the very first question she fired at Harvey as the sheriff came to with a compress on his head, lying on one of Donna's few remaining tables and blinking into the light in confusion,

"Harvey, where's Mike?"

"Mike?"

"I can't find him."

Given that he had taken a knock to the head, Rachel had fully expected confusion, what she got however was a pained-sounding sigh and a clench-jawed smile as he propped himself up,

"Seriously. _That's_ your first question? Asking after the guy you just met?"

Despite herself the healer blushed but she reached across and adjusted the compress, smirking slightly as the lawman winced,

"I can't find him – I'm worried about him. But only because he's still recovering from earlier. He shouldn't be out there on his own."

"I'm pretty sure Mike can take care of himself."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Right before this," Harvey sighed heavily, realising that she wasn't going to stop and pointing to the bang on his head, "We were heading for the saloon to make sure – ," he paused, his expression tightening, quickly he cast around the room, "Donna? Where's Donna?"

Rachel blinked uncertainly, not entirely sure what to say. Instead she decided to press on regardless,

"Mike was outside the jail? How?"

Harvey's eyes narrowed forcefully,

"Rachel. _Where's Donna_?"

Another speaker beat her to it and the nasally-tone was decidedly less gentle; in fact it was almost accusatory.

"She's gone Harvey. Those bastards took her and if you're wondering if this is all your fault, the answer is yes, it damn well is."

"Louis," Rachel hissed beseechingly as the sheriff slowly turned towards him. His frown took in a cut to the cheek and a slightly battered pin-stripe suit. Evidently Louis had been let off lightly.

"What did you just say to me?"

"You heard me,"

"You think this is _my_ fault? How?"

Harvey hopped down off the table, landing solidly on the floor. Louis watched him then swallowed nervously. Clearly he had been banking on the sheriff being more unsteady on his feet. No such luck. In the background Rachel shuffled uncertainly, hoping the smaller man stayed quiet. He didn't.

" _You're_ the one who let him out,"

"Let who out?" Harvey frowned back, "Joe? I didn't let him out – _they blew up the wall_."

"I'm not talking about him, I'm talking about the kid."

For a moment everyone fell silent, including Rachel; caught unawares. It was confusion that Harvey obviously shared.

"Mike?" he blinked, tossing down the wet rag and probing gently at his bump, "Louis, what in the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about that god damn kid jumping up on a horse and riding out of town with the rest of those _monsters_."

Harvey blinked in disbelief,

"What? No he didn't."

"That's _exactly_ what he did," Louis spat back, an unnerving fire burning in his eyes, "I saw him – pretending to help then running out of here the moment he had an opportunity. He played you Harvey – played you like a god damn fool."

"Louis, watch yourself, Mike didn't betray us."

It was strange to Harvey how much it mattered that Mike's name was being dragged through the mud. Why in the world should he even care? Maybe it was because he owed the conman his life; maybe it was because he had looked him in the eyes. Or maybe it was because the kid was like him; cocky, sarcastic and downright fearless. No. No way had the kid run out on them and no way _in hell_ had he let them take Donna. Louis however remained unmoved.

"Well I'm telling you he did and I saw it with my own two eyes – ,"

"When was that?" Harvey fired back hotly, trying to tune out the ringing in his ears, "When you were hiding behind the water trough or when you were letting them drag Donna away?"

"At least I was conscious,"

Rachel winced,

"Louis – ,"

But her concern was just a fraction too late and in a movement worthy of a mountain lion Harvey had the bank manager pinned up against the wall; held in place by the lapels of his jacket and only just scuffing the ground with his toes. For a moment all out violence threatened to erupt but then another voice broke in through the madness and instantly and seamlessly took charge.

"Harvey," Jessica started evenly, "Put him down."

"Before or after I murder him?"

"Preferably before."

Reluctantly Harvey let go of the material and Louis tumbled towards the ground, landing clumsily on his feet and stumbling slightly as he caught his breath.

"Jessica," he gasped dramatically, "Thank god you came – thank god you're alright."

She regarded him coolly; her arms folded tight.

"How about we leave thanking god until my town _isn't_ on fire?" she turned away towards Harvey and Rachel, "What's the damage?"

"Twelve wounded," Rachel replied, "Three more seriously but they should all make a full recovery. Three buildings have been burnt down – the telegraph office, the barber's and Norma's and – ," she looked down, "They also took Donna."

Jessica's gaze quickly found out Harvey's and watched as the fury shivered in his eyes. Before he even uttered a word she knew exactly what he was thinking and expressed it in a single word,

"Posse?"

The sheriff nodded,

"Posse."

"In that case I'll send out the request – any able bodied man to mount up within the hour. After what happened here tonight I expect you'll have more than enough volunteers."

Louis stepped forward,

"Then consider me the first. After all, as _prospective_ deputy sheriff, I'd like to show off my credentials – ,"

"I bet you would," Harvey interjected watching Louis puff out his chest and carry on indignantly,

"If someone is going to rescue Donna then I want that someone to be me _and_ what's more, I'd like to teach that gang a lesson about messing with our town – starting with that no good kid."

As Harvey rolled his eyes in frustration, Jessica narrowed hers and blinked,

"What kid is that?"

"He's talking about Mike,"

"And who is Mike?"

"A troublemaker," Louis barked back, brushing at his jacket sleeve crossly; in the light of the saloon the stains were unnerving as was the dust-print stretched up his thigh, "Who this afternoon started a fight which damn-near endangered Donna's life – ," Harvey snorted loudly; derisively but Louis continued undeterred, " _Then_ I saw him hitch a ride out of here in the company of those _villains_ not an hour ago. Deny it all you like Harvey, but that's what happened."

"So what?" he shrugged, "That doesn't mean anything but what _does_ mean something is him saving my ass not ten minutes before _you_ claim he rode off – ,"

Jessica quirked a quizzical brow,

"He saved you? I want to meet this kid."

"You can thank him later but all you need to know for now is that what he did is _not_ what the bad guys do. Mike is on our side."

"You sure about that?"

Harvey matched Jessica's gaze blink for blink.

"I am."

"Okay," she nodded, "I believe you."

Louis' mouth swung wide then hung open,

"But – but Jessica – ,"

"Louis," she countered, "That's enough. I know you want to help and I know you care about Donna – we all do – but right now accusations aren't going to help. If Harvey says he trusts this Mike then I believe him, I've stuck by his judgement calls before now and they have yet to let me down. We can figure all of this out later, but right now we need get moving, _fast_ , or we'll lose any trail we have," pausing she put a hand on his shoulder and he gazed up into her eyes in awe, "We need you out there Louis – _I_ need you out there. So will you do that for me?"

He nodded dumbly and Harvey snorted. The bank manager would probably have agreed to anything provided it meant making Jessica happy. She knew it too; it was why she used it. Smiling serenely she squeezed at his arm,

"Thank you Louis, I knew I could count on you. Now will you excuse Harvey and I for a second. I just need to go over a few final details."

Once again the smaller man just nodded although he didn't seem willing – or able – to move. Stepping in with a cough of amusement, Rachel gently plucked at his sleeve, turning him bodily towards the doorway and guiding him slowly, one step at a time,

"Come on Louis," she babied, "Left then right, you're doing good."

Both sheriff and Mayor watched them go, waiting until the batwing doors had swung shut behind them and fallen still before speaking.

"Harvey," Jessica started briskly, "Are you going to be able to do this?"

He blinked at her,

"Rescue Donna?"

"Work with Louis."

He heaved a sigh,

"Jessica – ,"

"Answer me Harvey – yes or no. Because when I walked in not five minutes ago did I, or did I not see you pinning that man up against a wall?"

"He was being an asshole,"

She smiled,

"He's Louis. But that doesn't answer my question – are you going to be able to work with him? Do you trust him to ride with you? Because if you don't, I'll tell him he can't go but it's not going to change my mind Harvey, I meant what I told you two days ago. If you can't find someone else by Friday, the job of deputy is going to be his and you can bitch about it all you want but it's not to do any good."

For a second Harvey merely blinked at her; a thousand conflicts warring in his head which was still thumping merrily like a native war drum. In the end he simply smiled thinly, fooling neither one of them,

"Right now all I care about is Donna,"

"And evidently this kid – what was his name?"

"Mike," Harvey countered, catching her gaze, "And for your information I don't care. He saved my life, I _owe_ him, that's all."

"Even if he rode off with outlaws?"

Jessica didn't miss the bristle and bit back a smirk. _Don't care my ass_.

"I already told you, he didn't switch sides."

"Louis said he did."

"And like _I_ said, Louis is an asshole."

"But he isn't blind."

Dropping his hat on with a sigh of long-suffering, Harvey turned around to face her. His suit was battered and would need a change, but the hat had pulled through remarkably untouched.

"Jessica, I spent time with that kid today and he's not a very difficult read. I trust him, okay – _Donna_ , trusts him and like I told you, I owe him my life – he came all the way across the street in the middle of a _gunfight_ just to save my ass. If he was planning on hopping out of town why would he have done that? He wouldn't."

The mayor folded her long slender arms,

"So what exactly are you saying? He mounted up with a band of outlaws to keep Donna company?"

"Maybe to keep her safe," he shrugged, "I don't know. He has this whole hero-complex thing going on."

Jessica snorted,

"Let's hope it lasts."

"It will," Harvey answered, turning for the door, "If it doesn't I'll kill him myself."

He was almost at the batwings when Jessica spoke again and although her tone seemed largely normal there was a frisson of anger that the sheriff couldn't miss.

"Harvey? Get Donna back and give them hell."

The lawman pushed against the door,

"I will, you don't need to worry about that."


	11. Chapter 11

Sorry for the wait with this one; the weekend kind of slipped away from me but at least I squeezed in some good old fashioned family time and even a bit of Christmas shopping. Thank you to all those still reading and reviewing and hello to some of the newer readers - I hope you are all still enjoying it and I hope this chapter continues that trend.

Happy reading.

* * *

 **Eleven.**

The Rattlers rode late into the next morning; covering the barren ground hard and fast.

For Mike the journey proved nothing short of agonising but his horse had spent the majority of his time seemingly thrilled by the pace, even kicking up his heels in delight and nearly throwing his new rider clean into the dirt. By the time the group had finally halted the sun had been arcing up in the sky and every last inch of Mike's body screamed mutiny. Climbing down from the saddle nearly finished him and it was with gritted teeth that he joined the others; settled contently among a scattering of rocks at the foot of some jagged and lonely-looking peaks.

Around them the landscape had been starting to undulate and the sight of ranges on the horizon up ahead had proven a stark reminder – as if he could forget – that every step the horses took carried them further and further away from Hardman. By nightfall the town was going to be little more than a dream and realising it he wondered how Donna was coping.

As the gang had pounded on through the night he had gradually lost track of the proprietress, mainly because the entirety of his focus had been focussed on staying upright and semi-alert. He had planned to check up on her once they had stopped but as he limped stiffly towards the gang his plan fell swiftly into nothingness. Donna wasn't there. Donna wasn't anywhere. There was no green dress, no red hair, no sarcastic barbs or daggers-for-eyes. Just lounging outlaws, eyeballing him steadily. His chest tightened sharply and his breathing speed up a notch – where the hell was she?

"Hey, Mike Ross,"

At the sound of his name he looked up sharply, surprised to find Tanner staring back at him. As he stood uncertainly the leader waved him in with a hand, patting at a space beside his own perch,

"Get over here. We should talk."

Terror grew then flooded out of him and he steeled his resolve and nodded off-hand.

"Uh, okay."

The last thing he wanted to seem was frightened but he figured that a certain cautious deference would work – after all the guy was called _Rattlesnake Tanner_ , he clearly wasn't inviting him closer so that they could talk romantic poetry and share a pot of tea. Besides, just _getting there_ was trial enough since it meant picking a path through the lazily sprawled and closely watching gang members, not one of whom moved as he edged in between them. He stumbled once – when someone deliberately lifted a boot – but caught himself against a rock, snorting and playing down how much it hurt.

The whole time Tanner's eyes were on him and by the time Mike finally drew in alongside they were practically shining with eerie amusement. The eyes – and most of the rest of his expression – proved deeply unnerving and unflinchingly cold.

"Here kid, take a seat."

Mike did as he was told.

For the first thirty to forty seconds, Tanner didn't say a word and instead they sat in uncomfortable silence with the leader merely eyeing his charge. In a vague attempt to look unruffled Mike cast lazily over the gang, his façade briefly slipping as he caught a flash of green. There, in the middle and sitting by herself was Donna; unhappy but unhurt and trying to re-tame her hair. Joe Henderson sat a few feet away from her, watching uncertainly as if he was scared. Clearly without a light soaking of alcohol he wasn't as brave as he liked to make out and the realisation made Mike snort.

"What's funny?" asked Tanner.

Mike jumped in surprise. He had almost forgotten the outlaw was watching him.

"Nothing," he answered, far too quickly. In an attempt to make it seem more real he also offered a breezy shrug, "Just _being_ here I guess. I mean, I didn't exactly see my life working out this way."

"So why join us Mike?" Tanner sat back, "Because what I've been trying to work out is exactly what kind of person you are and right now, I'm not doing too great. So why don't you tell _me_ how you ended up here and I can decide what we're going to do with you."

The expression in his gaze was icy but sharp and it gave Mike an odd sensation of hope. Something about the quirky young conman was obviously piquing the older man's interest but he was cautious and yet to be fully convinced. In order to make sure he stayed in play Mike decided to lay it all out; honesty was the very best policy.

It was also the only thing he had.

"Look, I have nothing, alright? I have no money, no family, no friends – no _options_. The only thing I know how to do is duck the law."

"Maybe that's true," Tanner nodded back, "But we're not a bunch of pansy conmen. We're the real deal and when we roll into town, people get hurt. Are you ready for that Mike?"

The younger man swallowed,

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Because Jonathan over there told me how he saw _you_ diving in to save the sheriff back at that town. That true?"

Mike blinked, unsure what to say. Tanner's gaze – once unnerving – was suddenly knowing and it threw up red flags. Did Tanner know what he was up to? No, he couldn't. Mike took a breath,

"I told you, I thought it would get me somewhere. I mean, what better way to do it than by saving the sheriff?"

"You seem to save a lot of people, don't you Mike?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means that as well as ratting on Joe, you stepped in when he got rough with Red. What happened? You trying to get brownie points there too?"

The pale eyes sparkled and in the face of their intensity Mike's attempted laugh of derision came out as more of a panic-stricken cough,

"Actually I was. Like I just told you, I don't have any money. I was trying to score a room for the night. I figured that women like the hero type."

Tanner smirked,

"Except that I'm guessing Red didn't go for it."

Mike pointed to the bruise below his eye,

"She gave me this."

"Wow, I like her more and more. Maybe I'll have to borrow her from Joe."

The outlaw laughed and Mike joined in, trying to cover his outright revulsion. He got the feeling that Tanner was still testing him and he had no idea how he was doing.

Suddenly from out the corner of his eyes he noticed Joe Henderson shift towards Donna and couldn't help but turn towards them. As Donna noticed she let loose a barb and thankfully the bulky outlaw stopped. Evidently it was the saloon owner's tongue that had been doing the business of keeping her safe and several hours after the kidnapping it was still doing the job commendably.

"So were you lying before?"

Mike blinked,

"Huh?"

Tanner was still staring at him but finally it seemed more inquisitive than suspicious. Somewhere in the background Joe moved again and it took most of Mike's slightly frazzled concentration to ignore it and keep his attentions on the leader. His head was pounding more than ever.

"The memory thing. Be honest. Was that a lie?"

"No, actually it wasn't."

"You can remember everything?"

Mike nodded,

"Pretty much. Names, faces, smells, books, numbers, conversations. I even remember what hand Joe had at the exact moment I told Don – uh – the _redhead_ he was cheating. It was pretty good. If he'd played it rather than rat-holing he might actually have come away with the pot."

There was a moment's pause and then the outlaw smiled,

"You know what kid? I like you, hell, I'll even give you the benefit of the doubt."

As Tanner laughed and his lips quirked up the final frisson of doubtfulness left him and Mike had to fight back a sigh of relief. Still, he wasn't out of the fire just yet and nor was Donna. _Donna._ He looked round. Joe Henderson had finally built up the courage and had edged just close enough to grab her by an arm. As she struggled in vain against him he began to tow her slowly out of sight, around the jagged outcrop of rock and towards a wide but shallow pool. Mike's heart stopped and his stomach lurched. He couldn't leave her alone with Joe.

"Uh, hey, if we're okay here, I'm just going to grab some water. That ride kind of took it out of me."

Tanner watched him steadily and although Mike had his newfound acceptance he got the feeling that no one in the gang was ever fully safe from him. He stood up quickly and gestured over his shoulder to where the sparkling waters lay. Tanner nodded,

"We ride hard, so go have a drink, we don't go easy on the new ones. If you can't keep up we'll leave you behind, incredible memory or not."

Mike cleared his throat,

"Well that seems, fair, I guess. I – uh – I'll be right back."

The path towards the watering hole was a good deal steeper than Mike had banked on and scattered with tiny loose fragments of stone. It was also bordered by fierce looking outlaws who continued to glare with dubious eyes or charmingly even spat in his path. In response he offered a peaceable grin and clenched his nervously trembling finger just in case they saw him quake. Once around the corner he sighed.

"Wow."

 _Hey Harvey, you might want to hurry up._

He found Donna crouched by the water's edge, gently splashing her flushed looking face. Joe Henderson seemed awkwardly frozen behind her – as if he didn't know what to do – but as Donna began to dab at her neckline, the bulky gunslinger licked his lips and stumbled in closer, hauling her up.

"I saw that Red,"

"Saw what?" she snapped, trying to snatch her arm from his grip and wincing as it tightened instead, "My barely hidden contempt for you? Because if you've only just noticed, you're slower than I took you for."

"You're flirtin' with me,"

Donna looked appalled,

"I'm _what_ now? Oh sweetie, have you ever got that wrong."

Joe Henderson smirked and pulled her closer,

"Nah, I don't think so. In fact the way _I_ see it all of this is just some game and secretly, deep down, you actually want me."

"You can dig until you strike oil, but trust me, the only thing I feel for you is _revulsion_."

As the barb to his ego dug into him sharply, Joe Henderson suddenly pounced on her; pulling her head forward by the back of her neck and clamping his lips to hers fast and tight. Under the speed of the blitz assault Donna merely squeaked in alarm, her arms taking a second to respond to him but then raising and trying and beat him away.

Taking the last few feet in a stumble, Mike arrived in a hail of stones, nearly breaking his ankle in the process. Briefly he lamented the sharp stab of pain; another aching body part to add to the list.

"Hey, _hey_ ," he barked at them loudly and startled by the interruption Joe broke away in compliant confusion, "What are you doing? Get off her."

The command was punctuated by a shove and although it sent Joe staggering off a step the woman herself seemed less than impressed,

"Mike, stop. I don't _need_ your help."

"Well," he murmured back, "You've got it,"

As the bigger man regained his faculties Mike watched Joe's face move through several emotions; confusion, realisation, frustration and anger.

"Why you little – ,"

With another surprising turn of pace, Joe Henderson began to lumber towards him; hands fumbling along his gun belt. Mike's heart began to clatter but he stood his ground and stuck to his plan and when the outlaw was less than an arm's length away from him he casually, coolly put up a hand. Like a well-trained horse the outlaw stopped. It was the one thing Mike had been reasonably sure of; Joe Henderson might have been a hardened criminal but he was also a criminal who had to be lead and without the word of the all-mighty Tanner he faltered like a little lost boy.

"Are you sure you want to hit me Joe?"

"I _want_ to kill you."

"I wouldn't if I were you," Mike replied evenly, swallowing down his rolling unease, "Since you'd be hitting Tanner's new golden boy. Plus there was that whole thing back at the town. What did Tanner say about it? That's right, that he warned you to stay out of trouble and you disobeyed him _and_ got three men killed. So you tell me, who do you think is in favour right now – you or me? Oh and in case you forgot, I'm the guy who can help him break into bank vaults. But hey, it's your choice."

Joe Henderson blinked back at him in puzzlement. The wheels in his head were turning slowly like they were being pulled by a pair of heavy draught horses and in the silence Mike felt emboldened,

"Get out of here Joe,"

The outlaw bristled and took a step forward but although Mike flinched he didn't move,

"Who's going to make me – you?"

"No, but trust me, I'm doing you a favour. Tanner has designs on this one for himself," as he spoke he jerked a thumb across one shoulder, indicating Donna stood somewhere behind, "So if he comes down and sees you moving in on her, he's not going to be happy and you can't afford to piss him off again. So like I said, get out of here Joe."

Joe Henderson faltered for less than a second then something inside him seemed to click and suddenly he looked dangerous. He stepped forward and stretched out a finger,

"You might have been given a chance by Tanner, but you ain't convincing me of shit. I don't like you, I don't trust you and I'm going to be watching you every step, waiting for you to fall because when you do I'm going to take you out myself. Watch your back kid."

At the sight of Mike's rapidly widening eyes Joe realised that he had made his point and grunting with smug satisfaction he pushed past the newcomer and spat on the ground,

"She's all yours. For now. You need to watch your back too Red."

He tapped her on the cheek as he sauntered past but Donna kept her anger in check; her fists clenched tight. Together she and Mike stood in silence until the chubby outlaw had disappeared completely and then – as if released from an invisible hold – Mike's shoulders slumped and he turned with a smile,

"Wow, that was – ,"

He was greeted, again, with a slap to the face; the noise echoing in off the rocks and bouncing back with double the force.

"Ow! Donna!"

As the proprietress moved in for another attempted swat Mike ducked and caught hold of the sleeve of her dress. She tried to pull away again but he held the material firm and hissed,

" _Donna_ – ,"

She cut him off with a kick to the shin and he cursed loudly,

"Donna _stop._ I'm on your side. I didn't betray Harvey, okay? Now would you _please_ stop hitting me."

For a moment the redhead simply stared at him, blinking underneath long lashes. When it eventually filtered through, the truth seemed to dawn as the result of watching the younger man rub his leg and curse.

"Wait," Donna held up a manicured finger. Her voice was hushed and her eyes were firm, "Are you telling me that this is a _bluff_?"

"Yes and you know, for a woman that claims to know everything, you've been pretty slow on the uptake with this."

"Firstly I've been _kidnapped_ remember? And secondly are you completely insane?!"

Mike sighed,

"Come on Donna, what was I supposed to do? Harvey was unconscious and these guys were dragging you off. I had to do something!"

"So _this_ was your bright idea?"

"As a matter of fact," Mike frowned, "It was. But no need to thank me, I mean, what with all the gratitude I'm already getting – ,"

Donna blinked then went to say something; in the end however she stopped short and smiled. It was an expression of fond exasperation. Or at least that's what Mike _hoped_ it was.

"Wow puppy, alright, _thank you_. But didn't I already tell you that I can handle things myself?"

"Yes you did and so did Harvey, but didn't I already tell _you_ that's not who I am?"

Donna smiled again. Yep, it was definitely fondness but there was also an air of sadness as well; as if for some tragedy yet to come. Maybe Donna wasn't just astute, maybe she was also clairvoyant.

"You know they'll kill you if they find out."

"Yeah, I kind of got that from Joe," Mike shrugged cheerfully, trying his best to lighten the mood. When it didn't work he sobered again and lowered his voice, "Besides, what they might do to you seemed worse."

"Mike – ,"

"Donna," he took her hands and for the first time he could feel the fear she'd been hiding, "I'll be okay, these guys might be dangerous but they're not smart."

"What about Tanner?"

"I can deal with him, trust me. Look, all we have to do is outthink them long enough for Harvey to catch up with us – a day or two, that's it."

Donna shook her head,

"Mike, you don't know that. It might take longer. Harvey's got to get a posse together, pick up the trail, follow us – ,"

The conman suddenly smiled again and reached down to pull something out of his pocket. Once free he started to shuffle them skilfully and Donna blinked,

"Are those cards?"

"They're _Harvey's_ cards," the blonde replied, "I swiped them from the jail before the fight. They're _also_ the cards I've been dropping every mile. I figure that way we won't be too hard to track. So, am I still insane or – ,"

Once again the redhead cut him off, but this time when her hands shot forward they slipped across and around his neck and drew him in for a fiercesome hug. He had to admit the card thing was genius; made easier by the fact that he had ridden at the back of the thundering outlaws. He may have generally struggled to keep up, but it had at least brought some reward. Quickly the redhead released him again but she kept smiling at him; like a mother staring down indulgently at her child.

"Uh, so," he began, somewhat awkwardly. It had been a very long time since anyone had hugged him and even longer since anyone had looked at him with pride. In any other circumstances he might have teared up a little – a _very_ little; as in maybe a sniff – but given that they were surrounded by outlaws he decided to keep his emotions in check. What he couldn't stop was the blush to his cheeks, "I guess I did alright for a pup."

"Well, it's _possible_ that maybe I misjudged that analogy."

"So I'm not a puppy, after all? Does that mean I'm more of a wolf?"

"No," Donna shook her head, "I'd say you're more of a fully grown dog. A little one – a lap dog that barks a lot and bites your ankles."

Mike blinked,

"I'll take it. But listen Donna, what we need to do is – _ow_!"

He broke off sharply as her shoe caught his kneecap in a vicious, sudden, well-aimed kick. When he looked up her face was twisted and there was an overwhelming harshness to her gaze.

"What – ,"

"When I said keep away from me that meant you as well _puppy_."

She gave him a shove and he stumbled away from her; feet skittering clumsily on the bank of loose stones. He almost lost his footing completely but regained his balance and peered back in bewilderment. _What the hell_? As he opened his mouth to protest he caught a brief movement of Donna's eyes; darting sideways and up and away from them. He followed them quickly and then shut his mouth. Up on the ridge, standing still and staring back at them, were Joe Henderson and Rattlesnake Tanner; arms folded, gazes unnerving. Suddenly Mike's pain was gone. How much had they seen? Stepping forward Tanner grinned,

"Looks like she really does hate you kid. Maybe you need a little more practise. Don't worry Red, I'll show you how a man treats a woman. You're not going to know what hit you."

"You'll know what hit you," she retorted hotly, "Rest assured, it will be me."

Tanner blew out a breath of amusement before turning and waving an airy hand,

"Come on, we're moving out. Oh, and Mike? How about you ride up front with me?"

"Uh, sure," he nodded, "Okay."

As Joe Henderson pushed past him and grabbed Donna by the arm again the conman and the proprietress shared a last look. Each one said the exact same thing; _take care_.

They were officially on their own.


	12. Chapter 12

This chapter is just a shorty, so I will post the next within the next three days to make up for it. We're slowly but surely building up to the crescendo now, I hope it proves to be worth the wait and all the lovely reviews I have. Happy reading.

* * *

 **Twelve.**

In line with Jessica's instructions the posse had ridden out of Hardman within the hour and although they had moved quickly the going had been rough.

For starters the trail had been half hidden in the darkness and although Harvey was adept at tracking even he had struggled with the light. Secondly the Rattlesnake Gang wasn't stupid and as a result several different paths had been laid out; caused by riders splitting up. It wasn't intended to fool the followers completely but it was just enough to keep slowing them down and as the minutes continued to tick over, Harvey's patience started to wane.

His other problem was the posse; eleven in total and all of them jittery. Among their numbers were Greg, Kyle and Harold as well as several shaky old timers who were carrying rifles last used in the war. Harvey wasn't even sure they would fire but Jessica had assured him they were better than nothing.

 _"You want to try riding with them instead?"_

He had asked. Jessica had smiled,

 _"That's not my job."_

So there he was; travelling with idiots and chief among them was Louis Litt.

To begin with the bank manager had seemed overwhelmed and had ridden quietly in the middle of the group. It was a lull that had lasted approximately half an hour and then he had rediscovered his voice, _in style_ and for the next two hours he had done little but criticise – everything had encountered his ire; from the density or lack thereof of scrub, to the speed, progression and direction of their pack and finally to the lacklustre light of the moon which he had blamed entirely for hindering their cause. After that he had spurred his horse onwards and insisted on riding up front with Harvey. From there on out the journey had been torture.

"Um, Harvey?"

" _What_ Louis?" The sheriff snapped back, trying and failing to retain his cool. The lawman was crouched down low by an outcrop, running the loose ground through his fingers. The tracks from the ridge branched out several ways and he was struggling to see which one to follow. He couldn't afford to choose the wrong trail; Donna couldn't afford it either. Unfortunately Louis felt they could,

"Do you know what you're doing?"

" _Yes_ ,"

"Are you sure? You're taking longer and longer each time. Why don't we just toss a coin?"

"Because," Harvey sighed through gritted teeth, "Picking the wrong trail could lose us an hour."

"At least we would be moving."

"But not the right way – ,"

"Harvey – ,"

"Louis that's _enough_ ,"

A tense hush settled over the posse and as Harvey looked up he could see the faces; staring back at him, wide-eyed in the darkness. He sighed and kept his frustration under wraps. Somebody needed to keep a clear head and in the absence of any other candidate that somebody would have to be him. He looked up and gazed off into the distance. The horses behind him shifted uneasily.

"What's he doing?" someone whispered,

"I don't know," someone else hissed back.

As Harvey's eyes narrowed in ill hidden irritation they suddenly locked onto to something flickering in the breeze. Silently he crossed towards it, dragging his obedient horse across the rocks. The rest of the posse followed at a distance; still at a loss as to why they were moving. Unfortunately proximity made things no clearer and as someone cleared their throat in the background, Louis leant over his pommel and frowned,

"What's that?"

Harvey was holding a small square of paper, white but flecked with dashes of red. At first, in the gloom, it was hard to decipher but as the moon finally shone down some brightness he realised slowly what it was,

"Is that a playing card?"

"It's _my_ playing card."

"Yours?" Louis echoed, "What's it doing here?"

"Someone dropped it," Harvey answered, before snorting in what sounded a lot like amusement. Louis smiled too; assuming he had it.

"Donna."

Harvey shook his head,

"Mike."

" _Mike_?" Louis spluttered, "You mean the kid? How would he even have your cards? Unless he – wait, did he _steal_ them?!"

Harvey ignored him, standing again. In less than a second he was back on his horse and wheeling the bay towards the third of the trails. The rest of the posse flooded after him; happy to silently follow his lead. Louis however wasn't going quietly.

"Come on, are we still playing this tune? You really think the kid is still on our side? How do we know the card didn't just fall out of his pocket? Or worse. What if he _planted_ it to throw us off?"

From up in front Harvey's tone was easy,

"You want to get left behind? That's fine. But if you want to help, I suggest you keep up."

The sheriff smiled smugly as he spurred his horse forwards, listening as Louis struggled through from behind. Although he was smiling his head was still turning and running over what might lie ahead. His main concern was obviously Donna because although she could kick ass with the best of them she was undeniably vulnerable as well. Mike however, was a whole other issue and a pretty exhausting one at that. The younger man had talked himself into the Rattlers; that much was obvious and it had played to his strengths but what worried Harvey was the danger of time and in particular the suspicion the conman would attract. The outlaws might be rough with Donna but if they found Mike out they would kill him for sure.

What surprised Harvey most was how much that thought bothered him and how much it served to drive him along. Behind him the posse followed obediently and Louis continued to push himself through. With Mike's help they would make good ground and resurrect their chance of a rematch. If the cards stopped coming their chances would be lost and so would Mike's as well as Donna's.

Harvey tucked the card in his pocket and readjusted the angle of his hat. Around them the winds were getting stronger and a tell-tale bite was entering the air. Harvey glanced up at the gathering cloud cover; a storm was coming.

In more ways than one.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen.**

In the end Mike was forced to move quicker than he had been expecting; a think-on-your-feet, now or never kind of deal which came at him right out of the blue.

The Rattlers had ridden for much of the next day, only stopping with the onset of dusk and setting up camp on the edge of a cluster of thin but leafy-looking trees. Along the journey the terrain had been levelling and signs of life had been creeping back in; there were sprigs of wildflowers lining the trackways and songbirds singing overhead. In any other circumstances their surroundings would almost have been pretty but jiggling along in the middle of outlaws it was difficult to be impressed.

Once again he dismounted near numb and stumbled over towards the fire. It was surprising to Mike that the flames were even flickering considering the group had only just pulled up. Whose job was it within the gang to even get the fire going? Was it the same person each time or did they work on some kind of rota? He shook his head wearily figuring that he _might_ have gone mad somewhere en route.

Tanner waved him over,

"Hey Mike, come over, take a seat."

Behind him Joe was hauling Donna from his horse and a quick backwards glance across one shoulder told Mike that she was exhausted too; she didn't even try to fight and the fact that she looked a little bit broken was worrying and deeply frustrating as well.

"You did well," Tanner's voice cut in suddenly and as Donna was towed to a spot further off Mike realised that he was standing beside the eagle-eyed leader; he wasn't entirely sure how he had gotten there, "It was a difficult ride today, I'm impressed you kept up."

Mike blinked,

"You told me I had to."

"I did. I also thought you'd fail."

"You were testing me?" Mike asked, sitting down heavily. He felt offended but he wasn't sure why. The outlaws gathered around them chuckled; Tanner among them.

"I already told you, we don't take in strays. Every man here has had to prove himself."

"So, is that it? Have I proven myself now?"

Tanner snorted,

"You've made a start, but slow down kid, you're not a fully-fledged rattler yet."

"Yeah," Mike nodded; over to one side Joe Henderson shoved Donna down into a sit and thrust a canteen of water her way. She accepted it gratefully and smoothed out her dress. Seeing that she seemed alright Mike resumed his conversation; aware that the gang were staring right at him, "Uh, okay, on that subject, I have a question. Why exactly are you called the Rattlers? I mean, I know you're Rattlesnake Tanner and everything but where does that come from? Do you just really like snakes?"

He chuckled awkwardly and was greeted with silence. Luckily the leader ignored it,

"You could say I like snakes. Couldn't you boys?"

This time the lounging criminals cackled, exposing rows of yellowed teeth and lighting their eyes with unfriendly sparks. Mike shifted uncomfortably; the uneven ground was digging into his rump and doing little to help his already numb extremities. His head had started thumping again and when he spoke his hearing whistled,

"What does that mean?"

"It _means_ ," another outlaw chipped in; half-hidden behind loose strings of lank hair, "That we ain't just feared for busting up places, we're feared for how we punish our enemies. _That's_ why they call us the Rattlers."

As Mike stared back at the speaker blankly, Tanner shifted closer and picked up a stick. Turning towards the crackling flames he began to poke at the timbers with the tip; the light leaping upwards and dancing eerily across the jagged features of his face. It made his eyes look black and solid and Mike held back an uneasy shudder.

"You know how rattlesnake venom works Mike?"

"Uh, well – ,"

"Let me tell you. First your skin starts to tingle and burn, like a thousand tiny fires in your blood. Then your fingers start to go numb but you don't notice at first because your heart starts beating faster and faster and the breath rushes out of you and you can't get it back – like someone's putting rocks on your chest. Then the world starts spinning - round and round, until you're dizzy and you don't know which way is up. You can hear your heartbeat inside your head, you can _feel_ the blood being pushed through your brain, it drowns out everything – even the sound of your own moaning. You know you're dying but there's nothing you can do – so you just lie there and wait for the end to come."

When he finished the whole place was oddly silent and Mike realised he was holding his breath. Letting it out in a half-gasp, half-cough he frowned but tried to keep his tone neutral,

"So how is it exactly that you know so much about this?"

Tanner grinned; the expression was thin and didn't spread much further than his lips. His eyes were still black and still just as eerie.

"Ten years ago I was riding with some associates of mine – we had just robbed a train and the marshals were tailing us. As we were riding over an outcrop my horse stumbled and threw me off. I landed beside a rattler and it bit me here," he lifted up a hand, pointing to a discoloured patch nestled between his thumb and forefinger, "So what did my friends do? They left me behind, those cowards left me _to die_. By the time the marshals got to me they thought I was dead – but I wasn't. I _survived_ Mike, I beat nature. I didn't need to fear the rattlesnake anymore. I _was_ a rattlesnake."

Mike blinked,

"Wow, that's intense – I mean, _amazing_ but intense."

As Tanner smiled another outlaw snorted and for the first time Mike realised that the gang had been enthralled; gathered around their leader cross-legged as if listening to a long-foretold prophet.

"That ain't nothing," the lank-haired man chuckled toothily, "Wait until you see your first trial."

"Trial?" Mike repeated, "What's that?"

Tanner took back over; his dialogue effortless. In some ways it felt like he was delivering a speech that he had practised a thousand times in his head but had never been given the opportunity to say and as a result it was both impassioned and reverent.

"Well," Tanner smiled, sliding closer, "My father used to tell me that every man deserved a second chance, but I never believed him _until_ I beat that snake. That was a sign from my old man so now I do what he would have wanted and when I get crossed or someone acts against my group, I give them the same exact chance that I got,"

Mike could feel his stomach flip over and his hands involuntarily starting to sweat; surely not?

"You mean you – ,"

"Trial by rattlesnake," Tanner concluded, "We leave it to god and if a man can survive the bite then all is forgiven and he's free to go. A second chance Mike, most people wouldn't offer that."

"Has anyone – ," Mike swallowed quickly, suddenly his throat felt dry, "Has anyone ever survived?"

A few of the clustered outlaws chuckled and even before Tanner offered the reply, Mike knew exactly what it would be.

"Not yet, but then not everyone is worthy of a second shot at life."

For a moment the gang leader stared at him deeply and the conman shuffled as the eyes brushed his soul. In the briefest of flashes he was sure Tanner had rumbled him – had dragged up the deception through some hidden power – but then just as suddenly the moment was over and a new voice was shouting from across by the fire.

"Grub's ready boys."

As Tanner's gaze swung readily away from him, Mike let out an ill-hidden sigh and watched as the rush for food took hold. From what he could tell the meal was simple; just beans and some chicken that he assumed the gang had stolen, probably from someone back in Hardman. His stomach rumbled fiercely but as he moved towards the scramble he suddenly became aware that someone was missing - two people in fact; Donna and Joe Henderson.

 _Crap._

The redhead had been sitting away from the group at a point where the scrubby trees became denser. Peering through the encroaching darkness Mike could see a path twisting off through the trunks and flanked by trampled stalks of grass. Either Donna had taken her chance to run or Joe Henderson had taken her off by himself; neither of which made Mike feel easy. Fortunately with the rest of the gang bickering over portion-size slinking away proved surprisingly simple and as the warmth of the fire faded behind him he ducked low under the first few branches and followed the winding track along. It was only then he heard the water; a fast-paced, rushing, roaring sound mostly drowned out by the shouting and crackling but all-consuming once back in the open. Glancing to his left where the trees petered out he slowly became aware of his surroundings; tracing one edge of a steep-sided river, bordered by unruly trees and large, smooth, egg-like rocks. Gradually the terrain was levelling and as the moonlight turned silver across the horizon Mike could see the land drop away from him until the river lapped – instead of cut through – the grass. Through the darkening inky-blue lens of dusk it seemed majestic and utterly tranquil.

"Ow, damn it woman!"

He heard the commotion before he saw it; the angered shout of a drunken Joe Henderson urging him faster through the trees. It was followed by a grunt and a higher-pitched snarl, as well the sound of a well-aimed slap and breaking through the last of the foliage Mike arrived in time to see Joe clutch his cheek. He was also in time to see him slam Donna backwards.

"Hey!"

The burly outlaw was straddling the redhead; trying his level best to pin her down but struggling due to the added complications of his bourbon-soaked stupor and her fierce resistance. She paused briefly as her head hit the ground and Mike could almost see the stars in her eyes. Anger consumed him and before he even knew what was happening he was chasing hotly across the ground and barrelling shoulder-first into Joe.

"What the – ,"

Together the two men tumbled sideways, hitting the ground in a tangle of limbs that drove the remaining air from Mike's lungs. Beside him Joe Henderson scrabbled for purchase and as feet and fists and knees flailed wildly the conman suddenly lost his advantage. In less than three seconds the outlaw was on him and although they continued to roll across the grass, Mike also continued to remain on the bottom. _Perfect._

"Oh that's it," Joe Henderson snarled at him breathlessly, as their final barrel across the ground landed them dangerously close to the river, "I'm done playing with you now boy, this time I'm going to kill you myself."

Mike reached up and delivered a punch, trying to loosen Harvey's gun with one hand; for a moment he had forgotten he had it so long had it been since he'd carried a gun. He had grown up practising and coveting his father's which had eventually come down to him like everything else. His shot had always been impeccable but he had hawked the pistol to pay for his train fare and nothing else had seemed worthy after that. Harvey's gun was the only exception, although unfortunately Joe wasn't as dumb as he looked and moved his position to straddle Mike's waist; effectively cutting off his belt. Denied his weapon, Mike resumed punching but the blows had worryingly little impact.

Joe Henderson laughed,

"Go on boy, I can take it. The bruises will be worth getting rid of you,"

"Can you back up?" Mike rasped, targeting the ribcage and watching as it triggered a grimace of pain, "Your breath is even worse than your face."

In response Joe Henderson repeated his attack and slammed Mike's head down onto the ground. As the back of his skull collided heavily the pain exploded up through his bones, darting right the way through his brain cells and bursting into his eyes like needles. How could the gentle, springy grass he had been walking on feel so much like solid rock? Briefly Mike's whole world went black but his hearing stayed present – accompanied by whistling – which is how he heard the growl of attack and why – when the cloud cleared away from his vision – his first sight was Donna, clawing Joe back. It was a valiant and somewhat heart-warming attempt but Joe Henderson knocked her away again easily and as Mike tried to sit up and regain some ground the outlaw's hands clamped tight round his throat.

Almost immediately Mike began gasping.

"Mike!" Donna barked from somewhere beside him, suddenly coming back into view and again trying to pry Joe Henderson lose, "Get _off_ him!"

The redhead tumbled back with a grunt, clutching a piece of Joe's shirt in one hand; the outlaw didn't even blink and as Mike began gasping she tried something different, reaching through the on going choking and pulling at the conman's gun belt. Through a thick haze of panic Mike realised what was coming but the first clue he had was when Joe toppled sideways and only then did he hear the gun blast. _Light travels faster than sound_. It was one of many facts housed in his mind; specifically from a book on Aristotle that his father used to keep in his library. Both of his parents had revered the philosophers. He wondered what they would have made of their son; conning his way through a phalanx of murderers – getting half-choked to death out West.

As the air rushed back into his lungs like a hurricane, he stopped being thoughtful and started coughing; rolling over and pressing his face to the grass so the droplets could bead on his aching brow. His entire head was spinning and the facts seemed dulled but when he finally peered back up it was towards a torn and mud-smeared dress and a smoking-gun held mid-way up. Donna looked shocked and registering the emotion, Mike stood up shakily and held out a hand,

"Donna," he offered, crackly but even, "It's okay now – it's all okay. He's gone."

She was staring down at the body of Joe Henderson and although Mike hadn't checked for a pulse, it seemed fairly certain that the outlaw was dead. Being shot in the side of the head would do that.

"Donna," he repeated and finally she looked at him. He crossed towards her and put his hands on her arm, "Donna, can you hear me?"

"I killed him."

"I know,"

Numbly the redhead offered him the pistol, but Mike put his hands up and shook his head,

"No, you're going to need to keep it."

"Why?" Donna frowned, "What does that mean?"

"It means," Mike hissed, turning her away from the scene of the chaos and pointing her back along the river, "That you need something to defend yourself with."

"What about you?"

"I'm not going to need it."

It took her a second to register that they were moving, but as her feet connected with the scrub she stopped and pulled away from his grip,

"Wait, Mike, what are you doing? What's happening up there?"

She tapped at his head; it was only meant to be a light touch but in her slightly less-than-settled state it came out as more of a motherly slap.

"Ow," he frowned, rubbing it mildly, "What's happening is that I'm saving your life and this time I'm not taking no for an answer. So what _you're_ going to do is follow this river back until you reach the road we were on – _then_ you're going to run until you find Harvey."

He prodded her gently into the branches and sighed as she whipped around once more,

"Wait, _I'm_ going to run to Harvey? You're not coming with me?"

"No."

"Mike – ,"

"Donna don't argue – they'll be here any second. Look, if we both make a run for it they'll just mount up and catch us within the hour but if _I_ stay here I can buy you time – I can give you the chance to find Harvey."

Her face set sternly,

"Mike, I not leaving you."

"You won't be," he responded, giving her another push, "You'll be _saving_ me. Besides, the gang thinks I'm one of them, I'll just tell them that you and Joe were fighting. I'll be _fine_ , trust me. Now will you go?"

For a second the redhead simply stared at him, debating the merits of following his plan. The fact that she was even debating it – rather than simply refusing outright – filled him with an odd sort of pride; clearly his crazy scheme had potential. The problem with Donna – he assumed – was that she was by no means used to taking orders.

Behind them there was a crash in the treeline and a voice rang out,

"Joe? What's going on?"

Mike's final shove was by far his most authoritative and Donna spun away from him before turning back briefly,

"Puppy – ,"

"I told you," he replied with a grin, "I'm a wolf, now _go_ already, they're almost here."

"Be careful,"

"Find Harvey."

Then she was gone and in the wake of her immediate absence Mike felt cold and oddly alone. His head was also thumping fiercely but as the crashing of branches got louder he shook off his doubts and crossed towards Joe.

The pool of blood around his head had thickened and even without checking the bigger man's vitals, Mike could be sure that the outlaw was dead. Ducking down beside the body, Mike pulled out Joe's gun and emptied a bullet from the chamber before tossing the cartridge into the river. With all his preparations ticked he then took a deep breath and turned towards the foliage,

"Hey, guys, this way!"

His heart hammered wildly as the gang thundered closer and then suddenly they emerged from the darkness; brushing aside branches and cursing at rocks as they stumbled, guns-drawn, across the scene. Tanner was leading them – stood front and centre – and as his eyes found out Mike he blinked and then frowned. Someone else fell to their knees beside Joe and reported back with barely a pause,

"He's dead Tanner."

The leader's eye narrowed quickly and Mike's heart lurched; it was now or never.

"Mike? Who did this?"

* * *

There, as promised. One thing I do have to say about this one is that I hope you don't mind the sudden jump into action. In my original plan I was going to extend Mike and Donna riding with the gang for another chapter or two but, realistically, it would have been just more of the same and I thought it would be too dull just repeating myself - so I went for broke. No point in dragging these things out!

From hereon in there be danger - so hold on to your hats!


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen.**

As a child Michael Ross had been near entirely infallible; intelligent, open and – crucially – _honest_. The thought of lying to his parents had horrified him and it was a natural terror of being dishonest that he had originally taken out into the world. People in authority had made him nervous and he could remember positively quaking when policemen passed him by, on the off-chance that he had – somehow unknowingly – committed an offence or broken a law. His father had laughed at him,

 _"_ _Michael, you are as honest as the day is long."_

For the second time in as many minutes, Mike wondered what his father would have made of his son and – in particular – how easily he lied.

"Mike?" Tanner repeated sharply, "I asked you who did this."

"I did."

"What?"

"It was me," Mike sighed heavily, warming to his lie; the fact that it had caught Tanner off-guard was a pleasing notion – a reminder that whatever he claimed to be, the outlaw leader was still only human, "I saw Joe dragging off the redhead and thought he was trying to steal her for himself. I thought that _I_ could do a better job of it so I went after him. Only, by the time I got here Joe had killed her. We fought and I shot him when he was trying to choke me."

The gathered outlaws blinked back at him silently and Mike could see from their range of expressions that the mood was caught between suspicion and bewilderment.

"He tried to kill you, so you shot him," Tanner repeated evenly, for his part looking far less confused,

"Uh-huh,"

"So where's your gun Mike?"

"Yeah," someone else chipped in; Mike wasn't sure who since they all looked the same, "And where's the redhead? You said he killed her."

"He _did_ , then he threw her into the river – I couldn't get to him in time. He knocked my gun over the edge in the struggle but I grabbed his and shot him with it, here."

Reaching over he handed Joe's pistol across to Tanner. The leader didn't take it himself but signalled silently for somebody else who stepped in and quickly checked the chamber,

"A bullet's missing."

Mike shrugged,

"I told you – he attacked me, so I shot him."

"So let me get this straight," Tanner questioned; his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, "You _shot_ a member of this gang because he tried to kill you over a woman?"

Mike blinked, suddenly feeling uncertain. In the heat of the moment the plan had seemed a golden one; a chance to kill two birds with one stone. By fictionally killing off Donna he relegated the need to send out a search party and by fictionally having _himself_ kill Joe he proved himself a worthy gang-member. Of course the one thing he _hadn't_ thought through was that the person lying dead at his feet was the associate, comrade and possible friend of the dozen or so murderers staring straight back at him – nor were their expressions kind.

Abruptly his plan seemed near-suicidal and his dawning nervousness turned quickly to stuttering.

"Uh, well – I – it was more – ,"

"Well done."

"Huh?"

Tanner's hand struck Mike across the shoulder blades in an oddly fraternal type of pat.

"I said well done. You _do_ have balls. You're more like us than I thought you were."

Around them the outlaws started to chuckle and the mood became instantly easy and free. Mike continued to blinked in bewilderment, neither understanding nor accepting the change.

"So – so, you're not, _mad_? I mean, I killed one of your guys and – ,"

"To be honest," Tanner interrupted him mildly, "If you hadn't, I would have done it myself. Poor old Joe has been dead weight for a month or two. At least this way it wasn't done by a friend. Now come on, you must be hungry, right?"

Winding an arm around Mike's shoulders, Tanner steered him away from the scene. With a click of his fingers three men lumbered forward to roll Joe's body towards the river. By the time the splash rang out through the darkness – accompanied by heart-warming sniggers – Mike and he were traversing the treeline and their pace was as steady as Tanner's bony grip. The re-appearance of the crackling fire was a relief Mike didn't realise he'd needed and as Tanner pressed him down onto the ground he sunk back with a sigh and finally relaxed a little.

Donna was safe and on her way to find Harvey and _he_ still had the gang's acceptance; things were going to be okay and with that in mind he accepted the hipflask Tanner offered in his direction,

"Here Mike, you look like you could use it."

"Thanks."

The alcohol kicked hard at the back of his throat and although it triggered a short coughing fit the warmth it slid into his stomach was worth it. Above him Tanner let out a chuckle and took the drink back to take some himself.

"It's good stuff. I swiped it when we raided a town about a week south of here. You know the guy who owned it brought it all the way from Scotland? It's twenty years old if it's a day but you've got to admit, they know what they're doing."

As Mike sat blinking into the fire – feeling the flames roast the soles of his boots – Tanner passed him another offering; a small tin can filled with meat and beans. Mike took it from him and tucked in greedily. He could barely remember the last time he'd eaten and his stomach growled to much the same tune. In the space of five minutes he'd gone from staring at the edges of death to warm, fed and liquored-up too. Life would never cease to amaze him.

"So," sighed Tanner, sitting down beside him and stretching out a long thin pair of legs, "How about I finish the rest of my story?"

"The rest?" Mike blinked, mouth full of chicken, "There's more?"

"Oh sure, you haven't heard the best part yet. See, once I realised that I had survived, the first thing I wanted was revenge – revenge on my partners, the men who had left me there to die. So I got strong and I learnt to be a better man. I waited until I was the best damn shooter, fighter and son of a bitch there was _then_ I tracked them down – every one of them."

Mike swallowed slowly; some chicken getting stuck. Something about Tanner's face was eerie and back to intense and unblinkingly callous.

"How many were there?"

"Four and would you believe that three were retired? Three of them – settled down, married with kids. Two of them even had businesses, like real law-abiding folk. Not any more, though. I saw to that but I didn't kill them outright Mike – I wanted every last one of them to suffer. Now the first one, well, I was a little bit eager, so I only tortured the guy for a day. The second guy I took my time with, killed his wife and his family first – _that_ was a good one. But then I got smarter,"

Mike put his food down; his appetite failing him.

"Smarter how?"

The smile slowly spreading across Tanner's face was making him feel almost borderline queasy.

"I used the law – I framed him for a crime. I killed some little lady he was seeing and then planted the evidence in his house. Of course the suspicion fell on him and when they found the murder weapon, well, the writing was on the wall I'm afraid. You know he protested right the way to the gallows? That's where he saw me by the way – front and centre in the crowd. Oh man, he yelled and hollered but by then it was too late and everyone thought he was just trying to save himself."

"What about – ," Mike faltered uneasily, "What about the fourth?"

"Ah, now _that_ is when Rattlesnake Tanner was born. I mean, at first I was going to lock him inside his print works, set fire to the place and watch him burn but then – by chance – as I was crossing the street, a god damn rattler slithered right over my boot-tips and I realised that I had been ignoring my gift. I'm a man who has survived a snake-bite, so why not use that to see if there are others out there like me? He was my first rattlesnake victim. He didn't survive – he barely lasted ten minutes – but then, he always had a weak heart. So you see Mike," Tanner turned back to him abruptly and the conman had to resist the urge to flinch, "What I'm trying to say is that if a man double-crosses me, he's going to pay and no matter how much I like or respect him it's the snake who gets to decide their fate. Can you understand that?"

Mike nodded,

"Uh – sure."

"Good," Tanner smiled, "I'm glad to hear that, oh and I've got something to give you by the way. It's yours, I think you dropped it earlier."

Twisting to fumble about in a pocket, Tanner drew out something small and for a moment a flash of white caught in the firelight and blinded Mike with its dazzling glare. Once it had cleared the item became visible and both men sat staring at the seven of clubs. Mike frowned,

"What – ,"

Then it all became real to him and as the realisation smacked him hard in the abdomen the ease in Tanner's eyes dropped away.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I thought."

"Tanner," Mike gasped; his lungs felt tight in the heat of his panic but his toes and fingers remained icy cold, "It's not – listen, I can explain – ,"

"Explain what? How you're dropping signs for the posse from Hardman? Don't bother kid, I'm not an idiot and hey – you know what – I'm actually pretty damn impressed. I mean, you may not _look_ like a fighter but you're scrapping with life every step of the way – it's why I've got high hopes for you."

From out of the eerie gloom around then, the bulky and misshapen figures of the Rattlers were lumbering forward, gap-toothed and grinning. Mike felt stupid; all of them knew. While he had been playing his clever little lying-game, the whole damn pack had already been onto him and waiting for their moment to pounce. He shifted slightly on the ground and almost instantly twelve guns clicked.

"Oh I wouldn't," Tanner laughed, "They're just waiting for an opportunity."

Someone sidled up to the leader, rubbing his hands in anticipation,

"You want us to lay the bait boss?"

"Sure, why not," Tanner nodded back, raising his voice for the benefit of the group, "Time to catch us a rattlesnake boys!"

As whoops and cheers went up around him, Mike flinched and tried to push down his heart which had launched towards his vocal chords and made his head spin on its axis,

"Tanner – ," he tried again; almost pleading. The leader smiled back and his teeth glinted sharply,

"Don't worry Mike, you know the deal, if you survive this little test I'll forgive you, if not – well – ," he blew out a breath, "You'll be sharing the afterlife with Joe. Still, you've yourself got a few hours reprieve – the snakes won't be out until late morning, _then_ we'll see how lucky you are."

* * *

Cliffhanger anyone? Okay, you got it!

As always thanks to my lovely reviewers and I hope this chapter lived up to expectations. We're rumbling towards the final show-down now but there's a few more stops along the way. Got a busy week work-wise ahead so I think realistically, the next chapter will be up next week, but I may surprise myself by finding a moment, although first I have to navigate the work Christmas party. Wish me luck with that one!


	15. Chapter 15

Hello all. Had a very productive day today (after a pretty manic 24 hours) and decided with my last flash of energy to tweak and publish this chapter, the last one before all hell breaks loose! Next one up by early next week and although my energy will have flagged by then the whole story will be up by Christmas.

Many thanks for my continued reviews and welcome to those new reviewers/readers - as ever, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **Fifteen.**

Donna felt as though she had been running for days and – judging from what she saw each time she glanced down – that was how she looked as well. Her once pristine and ornate green dress was torn and hung in untidy tatters and her custom-made, formerly _high-heeled_ boots had turned into flats as a result of two rabbit holes. She could only imagine how her hair must have looked.

 _When I get out of this_ , she mused as she stumbled briefly in the darkness, _I am never running again – Donna is a show horse not an antelope_.

Somewhere at the height of the moon's nightly orbit, the redhead had blundered out of the grasses and back onto the dusty dirt road. From there the river had fallen away from her; careering off as it surged through the land. Without the masking sound of its roaring waters the silence had seemed overwhelmingly bleak but it had also given her the chance to slow down – knowing full-well that anyone approaching her would be easily heard on the rough, loose stones.

In her mind's eye she kept playing the same two images; Joe Henderson toppling onto the grass and Mike's face as he pushed her towards the treeline. Maybe he was right – maybe he _wasn't_ a puppy but nor was he a one-man army and for all his smart talk and false bravado he was by no means equipped to deal with outlaws. The sooner she found Harvey the sooner they could save him. _If_ she found Harvey.

No, she would.

The first image was the one that she found the most troubling and although her guilt was tempered by justice – not to mention sheer relief – the knowledge that she had killed a man was one she knew she was going to have to live with. Sure she had _injured_ a few men in her time – Mike among them as a matter of fact – but a point-blank shooting? That was new, although if anybody had deserved it then it was sweaty-old, booze-soaked, lecherous Joe Henderson. She wasn't sorry. Not one bit.

The sound of horse braying sharply in the distance made her gasp and lose her step and she stumbled ungracefully and landed on her knee,

"Ow, damn it."

For a moment she stayed where she had fallen; her heart pounding wildly and her grip around the gun handle tightening.

For a second it almost sounded as though the river was flowing back to her but she knew instantly the roaring was the thunder of hoof-beats. She needed to stay cool and keep her focus. Which direction were the horses coming from? Careful listening told her that the riders were coming in towards her – so not the outlaws who were still at her back.

Or were they?

Donna had followed Mike's instructions to the letter but tracking and wilderness hiking were not her strong suits – of which she had far too many to count – and so it was maybe _potentially_ possible that somewhere she had turned back on herself.

As the hooves drew in she stumbled off the road a few steps, lying down flat amongst a scattering of rocks and pulling back the hammer on Harvey's pistol. She was only just in time to watch the riders flood past her; charging by in a snorting, thundering mass of bodies. Well, all except one man at the back who seemed to be moving out-of-time with his horse and struggling to both stay in the saddle and keep an over-sized hat in place.

Donna frowned. Was that – was that...

" _Harold_?"

She barked the name before she could stop herself and instantly the tall figure ground to a halt. His horse slid still with nervy reluctance; keen to keep pace with the galloping herd.

"Donna?" the rider blinked, in startled astonishment; one hand still clamped down tight on his hat. She wondered if he'd ridden one handed all the way from Hardman but before she had the chance to ask the younger man was waving and whooping at the group, "Hey! Hey guys! Guys wait – it's _Donna_!"

"Donna?"

Someone echoed in bewilderment and then suddenly the horses were wheeling back towards them and Harold was struggling to dismount as he laughed.

"Oh my gosh, Donna, are – are you okay? What happened? Where are the gang and where – ow – ,"

Stepping forward she untangled his stirrups and the timid little man came free with a stagger, banging clumsily into his horse and then bouncing straight off it into another; astride it was Louis,

"Donna, oh thank god! Did they hurt you? I swear if those fiends so much as _touched_ you I will rain down hellfire on them like a – ,"

"Donna?"

As a worried hand arrived on her shoulder she spun towards a familiar face. The expression she found was a mix of emotions; concern, a lot of anger and relief all at once and in a moment she didn't even register happening she fell forward towards him and laid her head against his chest.

"Harvey,"

"Hey," he questioned softly, a frisson of anxiety lacing his tone; Harvey wasn't a _hugger_ at the best of times and nor was Donna – which was the problem. For the feisty town madam to be willingly hugging him something had to be drastically wrong and knowing it she stepped back and regained some decorum. She started by smoothing back her hair.

"There," she smiled; it wobbled slightly, "All better."

"Donna," Harvey repeated slowly, "Are you alright? What happened?"

Louis snorted,

"Please Harvey, it's obvious. Donna here out-smarted the gang and affected a novel-worthy escape towards the heroes riding to her rescue. I knew she would – she's freakin' _Donna_."

" _Louis_ – ,"

"Harvey," Donna interrupted him breathlessly, slicing through the building tension and pressing something into his hand, "We need to go back,"

"What?" Louis barked at her, "Back? Why? You're safe and sound now. We can all go home."

Ignoring the bank manager with a frown of confusion Harvey looked down at the item in his palm; the pistol he had thrown at Mike earlier stared back at him and since it was no longer attached to the conman a pressing question reared its head.

"Where is he?"

"They've got him Harvey,"

Louis blinked,

"Got who?"

" _Mike_ ," Donna answered. The bank manager groaned at her,

"So what? It's what that turncoat deserves. Say what you like Harvey but I don't believe it – why would anyone risk his life for a bunch of people he just met?"

In a sudden flash of dirty green – the turn of pace which surprised nearly all of them – Donna was in front of him and pointing in fury, so much so that his horse backed up and flicked his ears forward with a snort of alarm.

"Now you listen to me Louis," she started hotly, "Because I am only going to say this once, but that _turncoat_ just put his ass on the line for me, _again_. So if I _ever_ hear you call him anything other than his name, you'll wish that you'd left me with that gang. Do I make myself clear?"

Louis swallowed,

"Yes ma'am."

Around him some of the posse chuckled and he frowned at them sharply and cleared his throat. Harvey stepped forward and took hold of her arm,

"Donna, what happened?"

She shook her head,

"I – Harvey it all happened so fast. One minute that great big lump Joe Henderson was on top of me and then the next thing I knew Mike was there and they were fighting and then – and then Joe started choking him and he was so _strong_ and he wouldn't let go, so I – I shot him."

Louis blinked,

"Who Mike?"

" _No_ , Joe – I shot Joe," she hissed, turning back sadly, "Harvey I killed him."

The sheriff nodded, rubbing her arm in a mix of both comfort and encouragement,

"That's okay Donna, you had no choice. What happened then?"

"Mike gave me your gun and told me to find you – he said he'd stall them. What was he _thinking_? What was _I_ thinking leaving him there? They're going to kill him – they'll find him out."

"Easy Donna, Mike knows what he's doing,"

The look she flashed him bordered on incredulous but was laced with enough _do-I-look-stupid-to-you_ for Harvey to realise that the sass was still in there.

"You really believe that?"

"Ok no, but he'll have a plan, which means he might have bought himself some time."

Somewhere above them Louis snorted,

"Come on, are you serious? How good do you think this kid is? I mean, they pick him up from out of nowhere then the next thing they know, one of their own is dead and their prisoner has escaped and he's in the middle of it all. No way is he talking himself out of that. I'm sorry Donna but the smart money says they've shot him already."

"The smart money, huh? You sure about that?" Harvey responded with a sideways smirk; in the moonlight his eyes glinted fierce amusement, "After all, Mike managed to talk _you_ into spending three times the going rate for some hyped-up love potion. Sounds like the smart money has always been his."

The bank manager's face sharpened,

"You don't know the potion won't work."

"Oh I think we _all_ know it won't work."

"They're not going to shoot him," Donna offered suddenly and her voice seemed so eerie amongst the bickering that everyone stopped and looked at her, "That's not what they do."

"What does that mean?"

"Tanner was telling some big sob-story – about how he was left to die from a rattlesnake bite while his outlaw buddies just rode off without him. Harvey, he _survived_ – ,"

"Come on Donna, he's lying."

"That's the thing – he wasn't. I saw his face. He was telling Mike earlier what they do to people that double-cross them. Harvey, they do the exact same thing – they let a snake bite them and see how long they last. I mean, at the time I just thought he was trying to scare him but now I think – I think he was _warning_ him. Harvey, I think Tanner knows."

Louis cleared his throat uneasily and turned to their sheriff,

"When was the last time you found one of those cards?"

"Two miles ago."

"But before then he'd been dropping them every mile?"

Harvey nodded,

"Every mile."

"So either Mike is getting forgetful – ,"

"Or somebody else has picked one up."

"Oh god," Donna shook her head at him, "Harvey – ,"

For a moment the sheriff stared back at her silently; his eyes blinking steadily but his expression unflinching. Then just as suddenly he was moving again; throwing out orders and mounting his horse.

"We ride out, _now_. Everybody check your weapons – when we find the gang they're not going to give anyone the chance to re-load. Harold, stay here, look after Donna – ,"

At once both the posse-member and saloon-owner mutinied,

"What? But – but sheriff – ,"

"Harvey you've got to be out of your mind. He saved my _life_. You really expect me to just sit here and wait for you to bring him back? Do I look like I'm made of glass?"

"Donna," he sighed, "I'm serious."

"So am I and I'm telling you Harvey – unless you tie me to a rock – I'm coming with you and I'm kicking some serious ass."

The sheriff's attempted stare down lasted roughly six seconds then he sighed and rolled his eyes,

"Fine."

"Um, excuse me?" Louis countered, " _Fine_? You're letting her come to face those monsters?"

Harvey pulled Donna up onto the horse behind him, waiting for her to get herself comfortable before handing her back the gun she had relinquished. He eyed the bank manager with a daring smirk,

"Do _you_ want to tell her she can't come?"

"Well it looks like I'm going to have to. Donna – ," Louis eyed the redhead warily; her gaze almost burning a hole through his forehead, "You cannot – um – you won't be able to – uh – I will not allow you to – alright, you can come."

Harvey snorted,

"Nice work Louis. I'm only sorry I didn't have ink and paper – learning opportunities like these are rare."

Before the bank manager could reply however the sheriff had wheeled away his horse and was trotting towards the head of the posse. The horses twitched; impatient to be galloping and reading the tension through their adrenaline pumped riders. The gang was just ahead of them which meant Mike was too; one way or the other. Behind him Harvey heard Donna mutter,

"Damn it puppy, hold on a little longer."

He just hoped the conman could hear her.


	16. Chapter 16

Well, here we are...part one of two action-filled chapters. The next one should be with you at the weekend. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Sixteen.**

Mike awoke suddenly as a kick caught his boot sole and he jerked into consciousness with his heart in his throat. Tanner stared back at him; a smirk on his face,

"Wakey, wakey Mike, it's time."

"Huh?"

Mike blinked; his head was spinning and in the fog of post deep-sleep confusion he briefly struggled to remember where he was. The morning sunbeams were shining down blindingly and blanketing the landscape in a brilliant white sheet. For a moment it even obscured the other gang members but as one of them shifted and blocked out the light they all fell into view around him.

Suddenly Mike could remember everything.

"Oh."

Tanner chuckled; it wasn't a kind sound.

"Time for you to prove yourself. Are you going to be a survivor?"

Mike squinted up through the sunlight towards him. For reasons he couldn't entirely fathom he felt uncharacteristically defiant. If he was going to go out then he was doing it in style.

"I'm not like you Tanner,"

"You sure about that?"

"It's the only thing I know for certain and if I have to fail your test to prove that then so be it."

The pair held one another's gaze with intensity and somewhere in the background a gang member shuffled. Unleashed by the sound Tanner rose to his feet again and gestured his associates forwards. Two bearded outlaws surged in past him and dragged Mike upright by his arms.

"Hey – ,"

"Shut up," a voice responded gruffly, accompanying the order with a cuff to the head, "Or we can make this even worse."

Mike decided to do as instructed; listening keenly for incoming sounds.

 _Come on Harvey. Where the hell are you?_

Someone dug a foot into his kneecap and he toppled earthwards and landed with a thud. When he looked up he was sitting in a circle; hastily improvised with neatly piled stones. The other gang members stood on the fringes around it, grinning in anticipation of a show. Mike swallowed nervously as he realised what was happening. During the night the group had improvised a trial-ground.

"Holy shit,"

Tanner smiled; in one hand he held out a sack. A very definitely _moving_ sack.

"So," he offered, "Shall we start? We've picked out a real good one this time – a big male, angry, lots of venom."

"Actually it's often smaller snakes that produce the worst venom. Frogs too. I like to read."

Tanner shook his head,

"You mean you _did_ like to read because, whether you survive this or not, I guarantee you Mike, you won't come out of this the same person you went in."

The conman stared back at him firm and unblinking and Tanner sighed and offered up a shrug,

"Fine, don't say I didn't warn you. Gentlemen,"

At his command the two outlaws who seemed to be moonlighting as the muscle stepped in closer and grabbed Mike's wrists. The first one twisted and bent Mike's arm backwards, pressing it hard against his spine and locking him firmly in place on his knees. Fire laced through his shoulder like lava and he hissed out loud and screwed up his face. On the other side the other man was tugging at his shirt sleeve; ripping the fabric straight up the middle and exposing the pale pink skin of his arm. Mike realised what was happening with a lurch and as a cold stream of dread began to surge through him he struggled fiercely and tried to pull free.

The pressure on his arms remained and Tanner stepped forward with a look of false sympathy,

"I'm sorry it had to come to this Mike – really. I meant it when I said I liked you. I just can't let you go unpunished."

As he spoke he dipped his hand into the sack; seemingly unconcerned about the fanged reptile coiled inside. Then again Tanner figured he was probably immune. Maybe he was; who was going to tell him otherwise? Mike's heart pounded in his chest like a jackhammer; threatening to smash clean through his ribs. By the time the leader's hand emerged everybody was holding their breath.

In his hand Tanner held a rattlesnake; pinning the animal tight behind it head so that his fingers were safe from the wide open jaws. It's tail was wrapped around Tanner's arm as if trying to squeeze the life out it but the chief of the gang wasn't going to be dissuaded. The distinctive sound of the warning rattle echoed loudly over the rocks and Mike shivered visibly and tried to pull back.

"Tanner – ,"

The outlaw smiled and took a step closer,

"Steady now Mike, don't show it you're frightened. You've got to _believe_ that you can do this."

Again he took another step closer and the rattlesnake's fangs glinted brightly in the sun,

"Tanner, this is _crazy_ – you don't have to do this."

"Oh no, I think I do."

His boots crunched loudly on the loose chips of stone and the sudden harshness of the noise made Mike jump; his whole body on tenterhooks. His ears were filled with the rushing of blood and his breathing was ragged; his chest felt tight. How much worse was it going to feel _after_ the bite?

"Tanner – ,"

The outlaw was barely a half foot away from him and the grip on Mike's wrist had tightened sharply. The conman tensed but was powerless to wrench back as the snake's head was brought in towards his exposed flesh. His senses felt both dulled and wildly alive; everything pumped and thumped and _yelled_ at him but his brain watched it happen through a disbelieving haze.

It couldn't be happening. This _couldn't_ be happening.

The circle of criminals gathered around him watched silently; every single one of them hushed and adding to the sensation of utter surrealism. If someone had been screaming or cheering madly it might have been better – it might have helped. As it was he felt completely alone. He was going to die and there was nobody there for him.

"Almost there Mike," Tanner whispered, lowering the reptile's fangs to his skin, "Nearly there, it's nearly over."

Mike closed his eyes and waited for the bite.

What he got instead was a hail of gunfire.

"What the hell – ,"

Mike's eyes sprang open. In front of him Tanner was still holding the rattlesnake but his attentions were no longer aimed at his prisoner. Bullets zinged in like a shower of hornets and as one glanced off a rock beside him, Tanner flinched and set his jaw,

"Take cover!"

The outlaws were already shouting and scattering; drawing their guns and firing at will. Figures were starting to emerge from the treeline; darting up over the rocks to fire. Momentarily Mike thought he may have recognised some of them but then just as suddenly the faces were gone and the hot storm of bullets was being returned at them. In the madness Mike's arms became suddenly free again and he turned in a daze to see his guards dart away from him. Tanner however remained firmly rooted; still with the snake and still with the rattling.

As Mike shifted on the ground uncomfortably the leader seemed to remember his presence and moved to head the conman off; still smiling eerily and pointing the snake at him as a very strange substitute for a gun. Marooned on the ground with no weapon and no vantage point Mike's prospects seemed as bleak as ever with one very noticeable exception.

The gun battle – someone had come to rescue him.

Now he just needed to not get killed.

"Tanner," he offered; his hands in the air, "Come on, it's over – give it up."

The snake was brandished close to his face again and he locked eyes with it with a cold sense of dread. The dark orbs were glittery and utter soulless. Maybe Tanner was part rattlesnake after all; their intensity was uniquely similar.

"We're not done," the outlaw spat ferociously, "We're not done until _you_ find out whether or not you're a survivor."

The snake was thrust towards him sharply but the move coincided with a close-range shot which blistered past them and cleaved the snake's head off. Bits of reptile rained down between them and as they blinked in wide-eyed astonishment another voice chipped in from behind.

"Trust me Tanner, he's a survivor. I mean, he's spent nearly two days with you – if that's not proof I don't know what is."

Mike let out a sigh of relief,

"Harvey,"

The well-dressed lawman sauntered forward, his pistol squarely trained on Tanner. As he approached he glanced down briefly and for a second Mike thought he could see vague concern,

"You okay?"

The younger man snorted; feigning indifference and rocking back onto his heels with a groan,

"For your information I had him right where I wanted him."

Harvey didn't miss a beat,

"About to be bitten? Wait, you _wanted_ to be bitten?"

" _No_."

"Because that's what it sounds like you're saying."

"Well," Tanner chuckled, "Isn't this sweet?"

Mike and Harvey's reply was as one.

"Shut up."

"Hell, you two even _talk_ in unison."

For a moment Harvey simply glared at him but for Mike the dig was unimportant. Instead it occurred to him that the conversation they had just been echoing – which had originally taken place back in Hardman on the night the outlaws had first attacked – was the very last conversation he and Harvey had shared. Yet there they were; repeating it exactly, working on the exact same wavelength and some unspoken intuition. It was both strange and oddly comforting at once, although the protracted thinking had made his head thump and he screwed his face up and rubbed at his eyes. When he reopened them Harvey was watching him.

"Yeah," he dead-panned, "You're _fine_. Think you can still see straight enough to shoot?"

The lawman passed an item across to him before grabbing up a hunk of shirt and hauling the conman one-handed to his feet. Mike stared at the gift in dull-eyed bewilderment. It was the gun he had given to Donna earlier – the gun Harvey had originally given _him_ – the gun that Harvey was now giving _back_ to him. Mike's head spun again and he bit back a groan.

"This is – wait – did you get this from Donna?"

"Donna?" Tanner echoed suddenly, "Wait, you mean to tell me that Joe _didn't_ kill the red? Wow kid, you're even better than I took you for. You're damn lucky Sheriff Harv's here too – if he wasn't I'd cut your heart out myself."

Either due to the unwarranted nickname, the description of Donna being _red_ or the bone-chilling threat to his own well-being – personally Mike liked to think the latter – Harvey stepped forward with a flicker of annoyance. When he spoke his tone was dangerous,

"You're coming back to Hardman Tanner."

"What?" he blinked, "You're not just going to shoot me?"

"The judge rides in two weeks on Monday – he'll decide what happens to you."

Tanner sighed and shook his head,

"Well, I've got to say Harv, I'm kind of surprised. I mean, I had heard that you were a hard ass – you know, one of those ball-breakers protecting the little man? It's a shame but I guess I just expected more from you. I never figured you for another gutless coward."

The sentence was not so much a red rag to a bull as an entire main sail dipped in crimson and even though he knew it instinctively, Harvey couldn't stop himself from bristling. He had never backed down from a fight in his life and he wasn't about to start with an outlaw.

"Be careful Tanner,"

"Harvey," Mike warned, "He's baiting you."

"I know he is."

"Then don't let him win."

"Don't worry. He won't."

Tanner chuckled,

"Those are some big words Harv – ready to put some money where your mouth is?"

Around them the gunfight continued to rage but it had lifted up and away from the trial-ground to focus instead in the trees and round the rocks. Yells and yelps and bullets still surrounded them but in the midst of the raging swell of testosterone the three seemed almost supernaturally cocooned.

"Alright," Harvey nodded then abruptly dropped his gun. As it clattered to the dirt in between them, Mike half-jumped and stared back at him dumbfounded,

"Are you insane?"

Tanner grinned widely,

"That's more like it," he put his fists up, "May the best man win."

"Oh I think we all know who the best man is, but that doesn't mean I can't beat the shit out of you anyway."

"Harvey – ," Mike pressed again, more plaintively. It had no impact. In the background someone rushed in to join him and as he glanced round with a hitch of alarm he found Donna panting and wide-eyed beside him. He let out a sigh he didn't realise he'd been holding, "Donna, thank god, are you – ,"

"Jesus Christ,"

Her eyes were focused on the circling figures and as he turned back in time for the first fist-swing he nodded his head and threw up his hands,

"Yeah, they're fighting."

"Is he _insane_?"

"That's what I asked and based on what I've seen, I'd say it's possible,"

Tanner swung again with his right and Harvey dodged it – effortlessly. The lawman even seemed to be smiling but then so was Tanner. Yeah. _Definitely_ insane. As the outlaw threw out a high-right hook, Harvey ducked it and pounded his ribcage sending Tanner reeling back with a hiss.

"Although," Mike offered, slowly and carefully, "If this is how it's going to be. I think I could maybe get behind it."

A gunshot rang out loud behind them and as they jumped Mike spun round – gun aimed. An outlaw scrambled past on the rocks; ducking low behind the outcrops and heading in a clumsy dash for the trees. Behind him chased a scrawny figure; tall, lithe and half-shadowed by the sun. Mike screwed up his face in amazement,

" _Harold_?"

"Yeah," Donna shrugged back, "Apparently he's a gunslinger now."

Stopping briefly the thinner man glanced down at him, a sudden smile breaking across his face. As the conman watched he actually waved down at him,

"Hey Mike! Oh wow, I'm glad you're okay. Did you see? I've got one of the gang on the run! Mother is _never_ going to believe this! I think they might even give me a medal!"

At the sound of a gunshot up ahead the spindly townsman ducked and gripped onto his white hat dramatically before returning fire at a large patch of air.

"Harold – ," Mike barked at him,

"Ha! I've got him now. Don't worry Mike, I'll be back!"

Then the taller man was scrambling away from him and chasing the outlaw straight into the trees. Mike blinked after him in horror,

"He's going to get himself killed."

The sound of a grunt briefly caught his attention and he turned back to the fight to see Harvey's jawbone being glanced. Tanner was starting to look a little bloodied, but with the exception of a slightly raised cheek, Harvey still looked like he was just starting out. As Mike watched them Donna poked him in the ribs,

"Harvey's fine Mike – go, save Harold. I _refuse_ to take that moron home in a box."

The conman paused briefly,

"You'll be okay?"

A face popped up from over the outcrop and Donna raised a rifle and fired it – a full-length, fully loaded, very real rifle. Her outlaw target yelped and fell back again, clutching his bloodied and bullet-torn ear. The redhead stared at the conman unflinchingly,

"I think I'll manage."

"Where did you get _that_ from?"

She flapped at him,

" _Go_."

Mike turned and took off reluctantly. Behind him one of the fighters fell earthwards; hitting the ground with a hail of dirt. Glancing over his shoulder briefly he was unsurprised to find it was Tanner and although the gang leader sprang to his feet again, it was becoming obvious that Harvey would win. Absently, Mike made a mental note never to call the sheriff coward.

Up ahead another shot rang out, followed by a yelp of alarm. It's pitch was unmistakeably Harold-like and knowing it Mike picked up his pace.

"Harold? Hold on buddy, I'm coming."


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen.**

Mike took the same path he had used the night earlier; weaving along the grass track through the trees to the growing roar of the cascading river. Somewhere ahead of him he could hear Harold yelling and it sounded like he was calling for help.

As he ran Mike resisted a weary eye-roll. Not ten minutes ago Harold had been at the head of the rescue party; now he was in need of one himself. Forget love potion, Mike should have sold the guy a rabbit's foot.

"Harold?!"

Mike burst out of the scrub with his gun aimed at body-level; dropping down low and anticipating trouble. He could hear the scuffle before he saw it but even as the scramble of limbs fell into view he struggled to work out just who was involved in it – or who, for that matter, was winning the scrap. He paused uncertainly, the momentum leaving him,

"Uh, Harold?"

"Mike! Help!"

Abruptly the bodies fell away from each other and for the first time Mike could tell who was who. As the outlaw reached towards his gunbelt Harold froze and let out a squeak although fortunately Mike was quicker,

"Hey," he ordered, re-aiming quickly, "Drop it. _Drop it_."

The outlaw groaned in irritation; a second later the gun clattered earthwards and a second after that Harold's arms were around Mike's middle, gripping him tightly in a full-bodied hug,

"Thank you, thank you – you saved my life."

"Anytime Harold," Mike replied briefly, both struggling to keep his gun trained on the outlaw and squirm unobtrusively out of the hold, "Are you okay?"

Harold's eyes were wild with something; terror probably mixed in with psychosis,

"I was – I was in a fight! I was in an _actual_ fight!"

At a loss as to what else to say, Mike decided on gentle chivvying,

"You sure were buddy, good for you."

"Will Rachel like it?"

"Rachel?"

"Yeah."

The pieces fell into place only slowly, which – given the battering his head had received, not once but _twice_ within the last two days – was probably about the best he could hope for. _Rachel, Rachel_. It hit him like a galloping herd of wild mustangs.

"Wait, _that's_ who you bought the ointment for?"

Harold frowned,

"The ointment?"

"The _love potion_ ," Mike pressed, "You bought it for Rachel?"

It seemed strange to be even saying her name in such a desperate and criminal situation; as if it might somehow sully her. Of course, it probably wouldn't have given the propensity of Hardman women to have balls made out of solid steel. Why would Rachel be any different?

Catching on suddenly, Harold nodded,

"Oh, I've been in love with her since before I can remember. She's just so _perfect_ and now for the first time I feel like I've got a shot, you know? I mean, between the love potion, joining the posse, capturing a dangerous criminal – ,"

Mike winced,

"Well, I wouldn't say you exactly _captured_ – you know what, never mind."

"So do you? Think I have a shot I mean?"

The question would have been a strange one in any location, but standing in front of a glaring outlaw with the last few strains of a gun battle blaring behind them it seemed about as unlikely as ever. It was also made more awkward by Mike's own attraction to the healer; which he couldn't help but feel had been subtly returned. Not that it counted for much since he wasn't a local and was never likely to be. What did it matter if Harold try to woo Rachel? It didn't – not _really._

Only it did.

In the background the outlaw chuckled,

"Oh yeah Romeo, sure, you're a regular hero now."

Harold frowned,

"Hey – hey, you shut up."

"Harold," Mike warned, "Just take it easy."

The outlaw carried on regardless,

"Did you say you had a _love potion_? Hell, what shyster sold you that? Whoever they are they've taken you for a fool. Not that it would take too much, huh hero?"

Without any warning Harold lurched forward; darting past Mike and grabbing the outlaw by his stained and ragged jacket collar,

"I told you to shut up!"

" _Harold_ ," Mike hissed; too late to grab hold of him, "Harold, stop."

By the time he reached them the smaller man was panting with exertion; hitting the outlaw with his fists but making little to no impression. The grocer's face was puce with exertion and he almost looked like he was crying; the outlaw meanwhile was smiling smugly.

" _Harold_ ,"

As Mike reached out to pull him off the outlaw suddenly made his move; throwing out an arm and catching Harold across the cheekbone. The blow almost knocked the curls out of his hair.

"Whoa,"

The moment that Mike stepped in between them was the exact same moment that everything went wrong and as Harold recovered and tried to charge him, the outlaw wrapped his arm around Mike's throat and pulled a knife from out of a shirtsleeve. Instantly everything around them froze.

Then Harold hastily drew his gun.

"Harold!" Mike barked, alarm taking over him. The blade was pressing into his windpipe and the metal was cold against his hot skin. Worse than being cut however was the fear of also being shot and as the grocer's gunhand wobbled nervously that possibility became ever more real, "Harold, calm down, it's okay, don't shoot."

Somewhere above him the outlaw chuckled and although the pressure on the blade remained rigid, Mike pressed on with his main concern. In the background the gunfire had died down completely and although it was impossible to tell which side had won, he hoped beyond hope that it was Harvey and the posse. He also hoped they would come to find him.

"Harold, just put down the gun."

"But - but Mike, he's got a knife to your throat."

"I _know_ he does, but right now I don't need you making this worse, so put down the gun."

"I've got a shot,"

" _No_."

The outlaw spat roughly onto the ground then decided to chip in himself,

"Do what he says Romeo, unless you want your buddy here to end up bleeding all over the floor."

Something in the grocer's face hardened; a strange combination of conviction and hurt. Seeing it made Mike's stomach do somersaults.

" _Harold_ – ,"

He pulled down the hammer,

"Trust me Mike,"

"Harold, _no_ – ,"

His plea was too late and a split second later a bullet tore into him accompanied by a bang that he heard but didn't register since his main focus was the white hot pain lancing through his shoulder blade.

He couldn't believe it. Harold had shot him. _Actually_ aimed yet still missed and shot _him_.

"Oh my god, Mike – ,"

Harold's remorse was near instantaneous but the conman had little time to reply as the bullet spun his body backwards and ripped him out of the outlaw's grip. The bearded criminal grunted briefly but jerked around helplessly; dragged by the trajectory. Together they seemed to fall through the air but although the ground was a short drop away from them it seemed to take forever to get there.

God Mike's shoulder _hurt_. He had never been shot before. It was agonising and sharp and deep and unrelenting; almost everything he had assumed it would be, but trebled and amplified until his whole body screamed. He had been threatened with a shooting once or twice and a lynching in one particular town, but actually _being_ shot was new and with it came the instant expectation of death.

Michael Ross was going to die.

Hitting the icy water therefore caught him completely unawares and snatched the breath from out of his body. It was like being stepped on by a big, freezing boot which clashed uncomfortably with his red hot arm. The water dragged his body under and shrouded him in thick black waves. The unending bad luck was almost laughable; shot _then_ plunged headfirst into rapids? It was certainly becoming one hell of a rescue.

As he started to sink he panicked and tried to claw his way back up; the current sending him tumbling and tumbling until he didn't know which way was up. He finally broke the surface mostly by chance and gasped in agony at the ache in his chest. It was only for a moment and then he was hauled back under again with a few precious gulps of much needed air. Somewhere up on the bank above him he could hear the sounds of frantic confusion and a voice that sounded a lot like Harvey,

"You _what_?!"

"I – I shot him"

That was Harold.

" _Shot_ him?"

"I didn't mean to!"

The rest was lost by the thundering water and the return of the darkness as he sunk back down. He was being swept along the river; moving at speed and bouncing off rocks as he spun and flipped and glanced off the bottom, scratching and banging every inch of the way.

His arm had gone numb – he could no longer feel it.

Maybe it wasn't even there.

The further he was carried the more violent the current got; trapping him in an ever-shortening cycle of submersion, release and re-submersion. When he broke the surface again he could have sworn that a figure was running beside him but then he was dragged back underneath roughly and when he re-emerged dazed and gasping his potential saviour had vanished like smoke and with it faded his chance for survival. His body was beginning to sink deeper and deeper. A few more ducks and he wouldn't come up again.

Once again his mind drifted back to his grandmother and he wondered what she would have made of his death. A minute or two more and he figured he could ask her. The thought of seeing her felt warm and inviting and despite the sunshine blazing above him everything started to fade and grow black.

Then a hand caught the back of his shirt and he jerked to a halt and broke the surface. Harvey stared back at him from somewhere above; reaching down from a jagged outcrop that jutted into the waters like a natural fishing pier. He was lying on his front; both arms outstretched and he also looked very nearly rattled. Mike tried to say his name but only succeeded in coughing up water. Harvey grimaced,

"If you're thanking me it can wait until later."

With a grunt of exertion he hauled Mike upwards; easing the sodden weight up the rocks and out of the waters that churned below. Mike tried to help but his fingers weren't working and nor for that matter was one of his arms. In the confusion he had forgotten exactly why that was but as he was finally pulled up onto dry land he remembered again with a sharp hiss of pain,

"Ah – ,"

In an instant Harvey was up and moving; sliding out from underneath the dampened conman and grabbing him roughly by the arm. As Mike shut his eyes and rode out the agony he became aware of a ripping sound and when he summoned up the courage to look the first thing he saw was his shirt sleeve being ripped,

"Hey,"

"Don't worry," Harvey dripped back sarcastically, "The tailoring is terrible, no one's going to miss this shirt. Besides, it's wet."

"I've been in the river."

He sounded dazed. Harvey on the other hand sounded peeved,

"You've also been shot."

"By Harold," Mike groaned, "Yeah, I remember."

"There's something you'll never live down."

"Then it's just as well I'm not a local – _ow_ – ,"

As Harvey probed at the bullet-furrow Mike winced and shifted under the sting. The lawman's other hand kept him steady,

"You're lucky – it just winged you,"

"You call that _luck_?"

"Considering it was Harold on the other end of that gun, yes. I'd say you're lucky he didn't take your eye out."

Mike blinked in bewilderment,

"But then I'd be dead."

"That was my point."

"Oh."

A sudden pressure intensified around his wound and holding back another wince Mike turned to see Harvey knotting a handkerchief; applying it as a careful makeshift bandage and then turning it so that Mike could see a neat monogram; _LL_.

"Is this – Harvey, is this _Louis'_ handkerchief?"

"It was," he smirked, "Now it's going to stop you from bleeding all over my best suit."

"He _gave_ this to you?"

"I borrowed it," Harvey shrugged, before offering a roguish grin, "I also commandeered his cufflinks,"

"You didn't?"

"See for yourself,"

He passed something over and Mike put his hand out. Sure enough gold cufflinks stared back at him; catching brightly in the sun. He laughed in euphoric, half-baffled, amazement,

"What did you tell him you needed them for?"

"I didn't," Harvey answered, deadpan, "I just used my authority. Keep them."

Mike shook his head at him; sore but amused,

"Well thank you – for the cufflinks _and_ for saving my life."

"You realise that's twice now,"

"Uh," Mike blinked, "I'm sorry? _Twice_?"

Harvey rocked backwards onto his boot-heels, offering the conman his full attention. His expression was heavy with indignation,

"Unless you've already forgotten _not only_ did I just fish you out of the river but I also used my – frankly – incredible aim to shoot the head off a snake that was seconds away from launching into your face. You're welcome, _again_."

"So, that makes us even then?"

"Even?" Harvey barked in outrage, "How does that make us even? We are _not_ even."

"Uh," Mike frowned, "Why not? You saved my life twice, I saved yours – ,"

"Excuse me," Harvey interrupted, "Didn't we already agree that I had that guy right where I wanted him?"

"No _we_ didn't. I mean, that's what you told me but we did not agree on it."

"Okay, fine, maybe you helped me out, _once_. But that was the only time – you still owe me."

Mike paused briefly and then suddenly reacted; throwing a hand out and seemingly plucking something out of mid-air, right in front of Harvey's face. The lawman jerked backwards then frowned in confusion,

"What the hell was that?"

"You're welcome."

"You're _welcome_ ," Harvey repeated, "For what?!"

"It was a bug," Mike countered quickly, "Big fangs, possible poison, long-term infection, slow death – you're _welcome_."

Harvey snorted,

"That doesn't count."

"What?! Did you not hear me when I said slow death?"

"Oh, I heard you – it was just so ridiculous that I instantly drowned it out again."

Mike screwed shut his eyes and groaned,

"Don't say drowned."

He shivered violently. Despite the sunshine beating down on them he was utterly freezing and getting colder. Everything in, on or around him was drenched and dripping and it rattled through his bones. He even felt like his insides were icy and as his body began to tremble and spasm it suddenly became noticeable to outsiders too. Harvey frowned,

"Come on, get up – before you do something else stupid like freeze to death."

Mike blinked up at him,

"Has anyone ever told you that you'd make a great healer? Hey, speaking of healer I really think Rachel should take a look at my arm when we get back to town."

Leaning over to help him up, Harvey snorted,

"I told you – you're fine."

"Yeah, but I'd really like a professional opinion."

"Oh, so I'm not a professional now?"

"You're a professional hard-ass, if that helps?"

"It doesn't and you'd better watch that smart mouth of yours before it gets you thrown back in."

Mike let the threats fly fast around him, placated by the feeling of Harvey's tight grip, wrapped solidly around his bicep and lessening the need to use his poor, torn-up shoulder muscle. Since being plucked from out of the river his clothes seemed have solidified around him; each tiny inch of fabric clinging to him like a cat up a tree and gnawing on him with yet more of that icy wetness. They also seemed to have trebled in heaviness and as he slowly eased himself upright he left behind a damp human-shaped print.

"Besides, who says we're even going _back_ to Hardman? I might just decide to drop you off at the nearest town – let them deal with you."

"Don't give me that. I know you care."

"Try me."

"Uh, isn't that kind of what I'm doing?"

"Mike?"

"What?"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

Their progress across the rocks was sluggish but Harvey's grip remained intact – right up until the moment they were greeted by Donna who was waiting on the river bank and pale with worry. She also – it turned out – was royally pissed.

"You _moron_ ," she hissed, almost steaming with fury, "You got yourself _shot_? By _Harold_? What were you thinking?"

"Uh, well, I mean, it wasn't like I – ,"

"Mike?"

Turning his head towards a new interruption the conman was surprised to see Harold in the background; his usual flushed complexion whitened with horror and his expression more miserable than Mike thought was possible. He was wringing his hands too – over and over – and for a second Mike worried that they might fall off. The last thing they needed was another medical emergency.

"Harold?"

"Oh god, I'm so, _so_ sorry. I never meant to – I mean I _thought_ I could – that is, I _wanted_ to – ,"

Mike waved a hand at him,

"It's okay Harold, really, I'm fine."

"Mike, I _shot_ you."

"Well of course you did," Louis cut in harshly, melting in from out of the background and staring down with an unimpressed frown. No doubt he had seen his handkerchief but given the look on Donna's face he wisely re-directed his anger elsewhere, "Because you're a god damn idiot."

" _Louis_ ," Harvey shot back warningly; although even as he said the name he was stalking towards the grocer himself and with such authority that Harold shrank backwards, not sure what was coming his way. In the end Harvey simply gripped the collar of his jacket and pulled it roughly off his back, returning towards Mike and holding it out.

"Here."

The conman sunk into it with a sigh of relief, registering with vague alarm that at some point Donna had taken his shirt off; when he hell had she done _that_? He blinked at her briefly and she offered a wink,

"I know. I'm that good."

It went without saying.

Seeing that he was good to go, Harvey nodded and signalled to Donna who immediately looped her arm around Mike's. Evidently the pair of them worked on telepathy, which was another thing Mike was starting to realise. His head thumped sharply and he winced in pain. Noticing things hurt – best that he stopped.

Together they headed back for the treeline, traversing a slow path back to the camp. The gunfire around them had died completely and for the first time – given the people around him – Mike could be relatively convinced that they had won. On the way back they passed by the outlaw who had been the cause of his demise – he was wet too and being guarded by posse members; glaring in outrage as Mike shivered past. For once the conman didn't care – it was done.

In the silence Louis cleared his throat and dropped back into line with Harvey,

"What do you want Louis?"

The bank manager frowned,

"What? Nothing – nothing. I'm offended you would even _think_ I would ask," he patted down his jacket, clearly wounded then paused for all of two and a half seconds, "Although now you mention it I could use a little _compensation,_ you know, for coming out here and lending a hand – ,"

"I'm not paying you."

"I don't want money."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want a good word."

Harvey frowned,

"You want what?"

"I want you to put in a good word with Jessica – you know – tell her that I was a leader out here, that I was indispensable, cool under fire – ,"

"Or in other words," Harvey translated briskly, "You want me to tell her to make _you_ the deputy?"

Louis shrugged,

"Actually that's exactly what I want and frankly Harvey, you _owe_ me that,"

The sheriff snorted,

"Not you as well? Louis, I don't owe you shit. Jessica called for a posse to come out here and you _volunteered_ like everybody else. You think they should all be made deputy as well?"

"Of course I don't, but I – ,"

" _Besides_ ," Harvey continued pointedly, "It's not Jessica's decision – until Friday it's _mine_ and I haven't chosen yet, either way."

Louis sniffed indignantly and let out a series of offended half-snorts. He was clearly building up to an eruption but Harvey ignored him; his attentions elsewhere. In front of him were Mike and Donna – the latter, for the most part, his primary concern but the former oddly stirring as well. Two days ago the kid had just been some conman, drifting into town to make a quick buck but now he was _Mike_ and the younger man was annoyingly _likeable_. He was also a fighter; which Louis Litt wasn't.

"Friday is two days away Harvey and if you don't have a decision by then, I _will_ get that badge."

"No you won't Louis – not now, not ever."

"Yeah right," he sneered, "Come off it Harvey, I live in Hardman too. I _know_ there's no one else that can do it – unless you've got someone better in mind?"

The comment was intended as a flippant half-challenge but when Harvey replied it was eerily even and accompanied by a twinkle which lit up his eyes,

"Actually, I think I might."

In that moment Louis' chances died but it would take until Friday for him to realise.

* * *

So, as ever I hope people enjoyed this one and that those begging for some Mike hurt got at least a bit of their wish. Just one more chapter to go now - I'll put it up at the weekend at some point in between buying vital Christmas supplies (chocolate, nibbles, turkey, wine - not necessarily in that order but chocolate ALWAYS first) and then we'll be done. Thanks for having stuck with it this far. We're into the final act.


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen.**

Friday morning saw a break in the weather; mild but significant enough to those who had been baking in the unrelenting heat of the summer and in particular to those still adjusting to the climate. For Mike especially the change had been obvious and he could feel it from the moment his opened his eyes.

The curtains of The Can Opener's best room had been billowing slightly – ruffled by the gentle breeze that swept in through the open doors and caressed his face like lacy fingertips. The room itself had been bathed in light but a pale, soft light as if passing through a filter and taking a long deep breath of the stuff, Mike had stretched lazily and flopped back with a sigh.

The pillows beneath his head had been soft and although his shoulder had tweaked in protest he couldn't deny how amazing it had felt to be able to experience the good things again – cotton sheets, a proper thick mattress, a full stomach not to mention genuine _contentment_.

His arm had been checked and re-bandaged by Rachel who had greeted the incoming posse on the boardwalk with a considerable amount of relieved concern – much of it flooding in his direction, especially on seeing the makeshift sling. Harvey had let her fuss with a smirk, offering an occasional and fairly vague debrief,

 _"_ _He's fine, the bullet only grazed him."_

 _"_ _Bullet?"_ Rachel had gaped, _"_ _You were shot?!"_

Harvey had shrugged,

 _"_ _Only once. But if I were you I'd be worrying about the near-drowning."_

 _"_ _What?!"_

Offering the conman a knowing wink he had sauntered away from them and let Rachel minister. The feeling of her hands on his face had felt incredible as had her touch and the fear in her eyes. He wasn't sure entirely when – and they certainly didn't speak about it – but at some point in the previous few days Michael Ross had got to her and the attraction was obvious and not one-sided. Of course – he thought wryly – beyond lunchtime it wouldn't matter; he would be gone and Rachel would continue to be Harold's object of lust.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that – except jealous and sad.

But mainly jealous.

Another figure to whom Mike had been introduced to on the much-celebrated return of their grit-covered posse was Hardman Mayor Jessica Pearson; a far more imposing and statuesque figure than he had been anticipating and a woman that he had failed to convince. She had thanked him, obviously, for his role in the success but her eyes had remained hard and her gaze unblinking. To her he was just another casual lawbreaker and she had neither the time nor the patience for his kind in her town. As Louis had grovelled around her like a lap dog, Mike had wisely slunk off to find Harvey.

The remainder of the Rattlesnake Gang had been dropped off in a neighbouring township – one with a functioning, non-blown up jail. When the Circuit Judge rolled round again the men would be escorted to Hardman for trial and from there they would be more than likely hung. Tanner's trial in particular would be unpleasant – given the number of murders to his name and the details that would no doubt be dredged up in court and put on display for the whole town to hear. There would be no tears at the gallows for him.

Joe Henderson was just lucky he was already dead.

The rest of the morning Mike spent leisurely; slowly getting washed and dressed and accepting some food brought up by Donna – a leaving breakfast and fit for a king.

 _"_ _To keep you out of trouble for a while_ ,"

She had offered with a smile – a sad smile at that.

 _"_ _Come on Donna,_ " Mike had shot back, beaming broadly to lighten the mood, _"_ _I'll be fine. You said it yourself, I'm cute remember? Besides, I'll come back and visit."_

The redhead had nodded and then left quietly.

Uncharacteristically quietly.

Mike had blinked. Where people in Hardman actually going to _miss_ him? That was new. It was also nice and as he got dressed and packed up his belongings he couldn't deny the wrench he felt. He was going to miss Hardman as well – or, at least he was going to miss some of the people.

By the time Harvey arrived in his room – knocking twice but not waiting for an answer – Mike was almost ready to go and the stagecoach was bouncing in across the horizon.

"All set?"

Obediently Mike looked round; taking in the room at a glance but the action more for formality than purpose. The truth was that Mike had very little to pack; just a comb, some clothes, a couple of books and a watch. His worldly possessions numbered few.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so."

"What about this?" Harvey answered, holding up a battered bag. The conman's mouth fell open in amazement,

"Is that my – ?"

"Bag of phony cures? Yes, it is. They're all in there too – before you ask – intact."

"I – I can't believe it made it through the explosion."

"Neither can I," Harvey threw back, deadpan, "The damn thing is practically indestructible."

"So kind of like your gun then?" Mike replied and Harvey looked up at him and pulled a face; it wasn't a happy one. The revolver that he had given to the conman had been on a fast-paced adventure of its own; first ridden off in a gang of outlaws, then passed along to Donna and then passed back again and thrown in the river. Their surprise at having found it down stream therefore – when they had stopped the next day to water the horses – had been compounded only by their complete disbelief. It seemed that the gun had been destined to stay with them – which had made it therefore somewhat telling when Harvey had given it straight back to Mike, "I mean _my_ gun."

"With the amount of trouble you seem to find I figured you probably could do with the protection. Honestly? I'm surprised this is only time you've ever been shot."

Mike snorted,

"Yeah, well thanks Harvey, so I'll just take my bag and – ,"

Stepping forward with his hands outstretched Mike was surprised to find the case pulled away from him and looked up with a frown as the sheriff stepped back,

"Don't use it Mike."

"What?"

"I _said_ don't use it. You're better than that."

"Harvey – ,"

"I mean it. You're too smart for that – you're too smart to throw your life away selling bullshit to morons like Harold Gunderson and Louis."

Mike blinked,

"You think Louis is a moron?"

"Have you _met_ him?"

"You know I have."

"And yet you still need to ask?"

"Okay, point taken."

As the banter subsided Harvey's face hardened and for a moment Mike was thrown off by the sincerity; the lawman didn't look sad or pleading, or soft or hopeful or anything reassuring but what he did look was firm and a touch disappointed.

Strangely it was the latter look that bothered Mike most and feeling it keenly he changed the topic.

"So, today's the day huh? Have you chosen a deputy? Let me guess – Harold? It's Harold right?"

Harvey snorted,

"Well, we know he can shoot and – okay – so maybe his aim is a little off but provided you're standing behind him the risk of being hit is small."

Mike nodded,

"Good choice."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

Harvey nodded; his gaze was probing,

"Any idea where you're going?"

"No more than usual," Mike shrugged back; not having given the leaving process much thought, "Next town along I guess and then on from there – that is _if_ I have my case."

Once again he reached across for it and once again Harvey moved it back from him,

"What if you didn't?" he offered instead. Mike blinked in bewilderment,

"Didn't have my case?"

"Didn't move on. What if you stayed?"

"Stayed? As in stayed _here_?"

Harvey stared back at him unimpressed,

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise the question was so difficult. I assumed you spoke the language – ,"

"You know I do," Mike frowned, flustered, "I just – I – I mean, are you _asking_ me to stay?"

"No," Harvey responded flatly, before shrugging in a decidedly off-hand manner; too off-hand as he tried to look casual, "But I don't think you should throw your life away hopping from town to town either. You need to make a life for yourself somewhere – somewhere permanent where you know people, somewhere you have options."

"Options? What options do I have here?"

For a full second Harvey simply looked at him, then, very slowly and evidently having made up his mind, he reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out something flat and bright,

"What about this?"

Mike blinked down at it. Staring back at him was a deputy's badge. He looked up again with a frown of confusion,

"What about it?"

"Are you always this slow?" Harvey snapped back, "Because if you are I retract my offer."

"Wait are you – are you offering this to _me_?"

"Well I didn't bring it here to get it polished."

"Harvey – ," Mike gaped in utter astonishment, "You're not serious?"

Harvey shrugged,

"Why not? You'd only get yourself into trouble in the next town anyway. Then I'd have to come and bail you out. I'd rather save myself the trouble."

Mike shot him a look beneath tightly knitted brows,

"But this is me becoming your _deputy_ Harvey – as in the guy that backs you up,"

"What? You think you can't handle it?"

The sheriff was being oddly serious although something in his eyes gave away his amusement; a certain playful glint that seemed drastically out of place in the context of their wider conversation. For a moment Mike wondered if he was being toyed with but something about that option didn't seem right. No, Harvey was definitely being serious about the offer but he was also trying to downplay the importance of the answer. He was guarding himself in case of refusal. Mike however had other concerns,

"Harvey, I don't know anything about being a sheriff."

"So? You'll learn."

He seemed unshakeable and something about his certainty made Mike start to doubt his initial misgivings. Maybe he _could_ be a deputy. Maybe he _could_ stay in Hardman. After all he was certainly better educated and evidently _saner_ than a lot of the prospective candidates, not to mention the fact that he and Harvey had established the sort of banter that usually took months if not years to cultivate. In fact, the last time he had spoken to anybody as quickly and snarkily was back when he and Trevor had been friends. It was surprising just how much he had missed that fraternity and realising it all but sealed the deal.

He _needed_ to settle down. He _needed_ to make a fresh start for himself. Maybe Hardman was the place to do that.

Looking up he flashed a wry smile,

"What about Louis?"

"What about him?"

Harvey's face had wrinkled on instinct,

"He'll be pissed."

"He's always pissed. Last week he almost imploded because someone came into the bank wearing the same colour necktie. It was all Jessica could do to convince him not to close the guy's account."

"So," Mike chanced a quick glance up, "What you're saying is you trust me to have your back? Out of everyone around here and all the guys that _could_ do it, _I'm_ the best candidate."

He was fishing for compliments and both of them knew it. Harvey quirked a brow his way,

"No, the _best_ candidate was Donna. You're second on a very sorry list."

" _But_ still the best,"

"Of the worst,"

"But still – ,"

"Fine," Harvey interrupted with an eye roll, "If that's what helps you sleep at night then _yes_ – god help us, _you're_ the best candidate."

Mike waggled his brows suggestively,

"Actually, last night it was thinking of Rachel that helped me sleep."

Harvey held a hand up at once,

"Alright, alright, I don't need to hear about that. _Ever_ by the way."

Mike nodded,

"Duly noted."

Somewhere through the open doors the sound of wheels on dirt broke through the moment, accompanied by the hoof beats of horses and shouts announcing that the stage had come in. As they listened to it draw up, the sheriff looked at Mike. In his hand he held up the pointed metal star,

"Last chance. What's it going to be?"

The entire future of the conman's life flashed before his eyes like a lightning bolt and in it he saw a vision of himself, old and alone and still wandering with his sales bag. Surely anything was better than that? Surely it was time to come home?

For a second he simply stared at the lawman and then slowly he reached out and curled his fingers round the badge. Harvey let him take it, gazing back with a smirk. As Mike admired the shine of the metalware the sheriff held up the battered carpet bag.

"What do you want me to do with this?"

"You know, I don't think I'm going to need it anymore."

Harvey nodded but remained silent, dropping the bag to the floor with a chink. In the background Donna stepped in through the doorway,

"Mike? The stage is here. Are you ready to go?"

She stopped short as she saw the badge in his hand, her eyes darting first to Harvey then back again. Mike nodded casually,

"Actually Donna, I think I might stick around here for a while."

The redhead smiled as if she had known all along. On some level she probably had; she _was_ Donna after all.

"Well of course you are," she nodded, cocking her head somewhat thoughtfully, "You know, I always wanted a puppy,"

Harvey snorted and a silence fell between them; a contented silence – Mike liked it; it felt safe.

"So," he grinned, "Can I tell Louis?"

The answer was instantaneous,

"Absolutely not. _I'm_ going to tell him – it's the only reason I hired you in the first place."

Threading the badge through the lapel of his jacket Mike looked up with a grin and nodded.

"Whatever you say, _boss_."

"That's more like it."

* * *

So there you have it everyone - the last chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with it and gave it a chance and made me smile with lovely, lovely, energising reviews!

I've had some requests for more in this universe and I would love to, but I was studying for my qualifications last year and once I passed I dived straight into Suits fictions and so I haven't really had a break. I'm now also trying to build my own business, so I've got a lot on and feel I need to take a bit of a break from writing for a while - maybe a week, maybe a month or maybe longer, I've no idea. HOWEVER, if anyone else wants to play with this universe then feel free. I officially give this launchpad to anyone else who wants to use it. On the off chance anyone does please let me know though, so I can read it and enjoy it too!

In the meantime I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


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